a poem a day for a year #265

sometimes I miss you even when you're sitting beside of me
the way your leg looks in denim
your hand on my knee
morning sun shoots through the window
we drink coffee and think about
your mouth on my body
my hands above your head
the intricate system of a moan
could we never grow old
because I miss yesterday
this morning
a few days ago
and I am nearly
afraid of tomorrow