to say to you
how much love
I have to give
would be harder still
than the grief
 I feel
when you are away.
enough that I may dream,
that my breath would catch,
at the reminder
of a hand
gripping the marble of one's skin.
the touch remainingÂ
long after peeling-a-part
—
the layers of curls that fall
gently on your face,
before I press them back.