Callused skin and dirty fingernails
Softly knock and bang the drum that creates a sound that makes my heart flutter
But although this sound brings me weak at the knees with stomach aches and nausea
I don’t want the rough texture of your fingers to be gliding across the instrument
your hands fit perfectly, tightly wrapped around my waist as if you were the string and I was the unlaced corset
I miss the prickly hangnails that my neck or cheekbones would meet once in awhile
I miss fights being broken up and interrupted with a kiss that made everything better
I miss your full lips brushing up against my ear to tell me something, though the words I cannot recall
But the worst part about all of this
Is that all these things, make up you
So I guess that means I miss you too
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