One to Many Miles

 

I hate missing you,

missing in general,

once I missed a man.

Hazardous urges to ask

unanserable questions

to a blonde set of pigtails.

 

Then there was you and

opportunities to miss

were frequent and vast.

Left to my youthful devises

Monster Miss, ate my soul with

gnarly green stained teeth.

 

Years pass, and missing

ties with longing and fighting,

evolution of the idea of self

brings the understanding

that I hate missing you and

it's all that's remembered well.

 

Stronger in natures curves

calling back to what was missed

naive to its existence,

reminded by the plague

and tortured by the innumerable

causes of missing you.

 

Those thousands of miles,

or twenty to the south city

are one in the same,

when those pigtails are in

or the cocktail dress filled.

the years refuse to erase,

 

how much I hate missing.

◄ Two Queens, A liar, and the Fly

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