I thought I felt your shape but I was wrong. Really all I felt was falsely strong. I held on tight and closed my eyes; it was dumb, I had no sense of your size. But last night in the kitchen my grip was loose. My eyes were open. I felt your shape and heard your breathing. I felt the rise and fall of your chest.
I felt your falls, your winter snows, your gusty blow, your lava flow. I felt it all.
With limp arms I can feel most of you.
I hung around your neck independantly and my feeling of loss was overwhelmed by this new depth I don’t think I ever felt.
But I don’t know…
My nights are still cold, and I vividly remember my arm gripping around a warm fleshy waist.
–The Microphones
