Love Sonnet XI: Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Now, the woman described in this poem does not sound like my T (the least arrogant person I know). But I'm missing her all the same.

I had a dream last night about someone dying. I don't know who. Me? Someone else? A child? I don't know. But I woke up feeling sad. And then, as T rushed around getting ready to leave for the week, I felt even sadder. I tried to put on a brave face (which I'm supposed to be so good at), but as she stepped out the door, I flung my arms around her and cried, "I'm so sad!!"

And as I walked back up the steps to the house, I wanted to run back down to the street and hug her once again.

I know I'm supposed to put on a brave smile and I know it's only five more months and I know it's all in preparation for something better and I know I shouldn't make it worse than it is... but it's really no fun. It's no fun for her, working so hard, in pain, away from home. And it's no fun for me, left at home, wandering around the house by myself, trying to do something useful with my time.

Katie the kitty has heard my thoughts and has crept out from the bedroom on her ballerina toetips. Have you heard of a daimon? Have you read The Golden Compass? Katie is T's daimon, I'm sure of it. It's comforting to have her here.