I miss you.
four hours would seem like heaven right now.
that half-a-breath moment before my soul starts to float.
the slip into slumber that is less falling and more sighing.
the cottonwool haziness that the world becomes.
the warmth of no arms holding me tight, like sweet warm milk under my tongue.
the momentary hallucination of allrightness, of pyrite-sparkle hope.
oh god, I miss you.
I cannot have you.