Lying here, staring
at the ceiling, senselessly
floating in a wealth of senses
missing you so incredibly much
that I can see your voice, purple
and red, soothing and passionate.
I can hear your eyes, that gaze
slow like a sleeping skylark,
and voracious as the ever-
hungry sea, the tides.
I can feel your voice, its vibrant
vibrato and its calming waves
of sound, of sound.
I can taste your touch, rusty
like a copper nail exposed
and spicy as a pepper, the taste
of which never really disappearing.
I am staring at the ceiling, senseless
in this wealth of senses, these memories,
thoughts and fantasies. Until you return.