Miss You Much

Miss You Much

sometimes
I miss you so much that
I retrace every other mere woman and girl back thru my heart
I recall the error of their kiss the yielding moment of their last breath into my mouth
I recant all of those restless declarations of love
I slit my tongue. I weep. I moan. I return to a fetal pose. I re-die to them.

sometimes
when I am unable to lay your old touch asunder
when there is so much of you in the air that I breath in sips and get dizzy
when a fever rages in my bones as though I am leaving my own flesh
when so much of what I want is found in stories of moments with you
I slit my tongue. I weep. I moan. I return to a fetal pose.

sometimes
the most pleasure that I can manage is the remembrance of your “yes”
the chime of my mantle clock gathers me back to when you stood bare at the fire
the ring tone for you on someone else’s phone revives your first, “Hey, Babe”
the way that I try to love others makes them cower and leap from my bed
I slit my tongue. I weep. I moan.

sometimes
well past bedtime I do not lay still against your long absence from my life
well beyond my reach   your laughter rides every gust of wind until it reaches my heart
well after I am soaked and awash in tears and aloneness    I apologize …again
well into the days of living on without you    the thought is foolishness to my soul
I slit my tongue.   I weep.

sometimes
there is everything and nothing left to say between us
there is my hand on the phone with your number dialed and knowing that you are waiting
there is every little thing bringing me back to my side of town there is your darkened door
there is the distance being closed by looking at our pictures on my screen
I slit my tongue…

Jas. Mardis
(8/6/2015)

Jas. Mardis is 2014 Inductee to The Texas Literary Hall of Fame and is the Editor of KenteCloth: Southwest Voices of the African Diaspora (UNT Press) and a Pushcart Prize winner for Poetry.