I think I was just trying to find a piece of you

In the curves of the letters of your name
I wanted to know what the muscles in your hands
Felt like every day
As you asserted yourself across the page

I wanted you to give me something to work with
You did and now it’s sticking to my hands
It’s under my nails and it’s in my hair

The day you left
Four dimples faded into four cold, raw, kissable cheeks
I wonder if it was the same angel
That pressed her soft, strong finger into the sides of each of our faces

I don’t miss you until those first few debilitating notes
Of the song I shared with you
It used to belong to me but I can’t listen to it anymore
For it is perfumed with the wretchedly sweet thought of your head on my shoulder

One day, the page that has my name at the top of it
Won’t be covered everywhere else by your name