When I think of you --

I bleed sunsets and sunrises

that never were and may never be.

When I dream about you, which is

practically day and night --

I ache cold hearts and curled

toes from trying to hold on to

memories of you too tight.

When I worry about you --

I know I don’t have to, that

I don’t even truly have a

right to do so, but I can’t

help it anyway.

When I’m excited for you --

a blizzard wind comes to

pass, lingering over this

sunny, frigid day.

When I hear from you, in an email or

text --

nerves expand and contract

like nothing else,

obliterating my ability to

type coherently.

When I see you --

all the kilometers of doubt

melt away, until you’re

walking with this one pure

heart, free of armor,

and this heart is sipping

espressso with the greatest

passion it has ever known.

When I touch you --

these hands were perfectly

sculpted to fit

yours, so much so that

holding this calligraphy

pen feels hollow, this piece

of paper blank.