I think this as I step <br />out of the downpour into my body, a trough <br />where this yearning collects and solidifies <br />into something like a plea, an Eloi, Eloi stuck <br />in my esophagus and oh, my god, I miss the ire, <br />the intimate, elegant stun of you, the radiant <br />obscurity of light through fog, and the rainbows <br />scattered on our cabinets by the sun on shattered <br />glass.<br /><br />Indigo Hawkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maybe-i-miss-you/
