Know What I Am Missing Poem by Kenneth Davis

Know What I Am Missing by Kenny Davis

I miss the warmth of the hugs of the soft, smooth skin of her curves. With every sensual sensation from the mere caress of creation, by only hers, are meant to burn to very tips of my nerves.

I miss her in the tight, timeless grasp of my arms. Mapping and scaling the smooth landscaping of the hills and valleys of her body in my hands, yearning of for what that might feel like again.

I miss the way it would feel for her to wrap her arms tightly around my waist, as my eyes and hers would meet, blessed to look down upon the radiant beauty of her face. Hands to meet around the crest of my lower back, as if they were to never part again, never letting this vessel depart far from her heart again.

I miss the feel of her arms around my neck. the measure of softness like silk, or the smoothness of buttermilk, unlike nothing I've never felt, or to ever feel again from no one else for myself.

What I miss is that of the every moment of every kiss. Though not yet to have been shared, though I know the urge has been there, the thought of tasting the mere tips of her lips, becomes too much to bear, stuck to myself, kissing nothing, but thin air.

I miss what those moments would create, missing out, due to a fear of a pain that might be, on the measure of the pleasure of a love timelessly.

I miss all of the times we did share. Miss hearing her voice with my name through the air, the feel of her hair, miss the feeling of the closeness of our hearts, when she was no longer there.

I know I miss all of the time we have lost, in a fear of being hurt again, but at what cost? Time, for each other, God has made, only to pass us by, only to fade, taking it all for granted, claiming we would wait, when in fact, what a waste.

My lungs misses my air, my reason to breath. The reason my sun rises and shines to the East. In this world filled with chaos, my serenity, my peace. Only, a lonely King, missing his Queen.

I miss the affect of how her absence would make my heart stop. In hopes that the essence of her presence would allow it to beat once again. So that the hollow halls of my life would hear the walking of her feet once again.

My heart misses hers, missing that of a ghost. Out of everything in my life, I find I am missing her which matters most. For future moments, we kiss. For future moments of sensual, intimate bliss. For all of the future, timeless, priceless moments such as this, from my heart to hers, she is sorely, deeply, passionately missed.

© June 2014 k.davis