A Quiet Ache

I missed you this morning. It snowed, and I found a quiet ache for you
Wrapping itself around my shoulders.
Not the hot, sharp longing of new lovers,
But a soft want for your arms around my waist
Your face buried in that place where my shoulder
Becomes my neck.
A quiet ache.
I wanted to pull you on like a sweater
Knitted from all the time we’ve weathered together,
Each purled row, each knitted truce;
Uneven, gorgeous stitches creating the strongest cloth I know.
And though we each held a needle,
The wool held some fault
Spun of unintentions and
Faith undone.
Kindle me now, love.
Stuttering romance, tiptoed words,
Relearning the language of intimacy
And solidarity;
Too long, darkness.
This abstinence of honey leaves me parched.

A little something I wrote a month or so ago, but lost it when my hard drive was wiped. This version is based off what I can remember.

© Emily Bragg 2013


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