Synapse snapping. Hair pulling. Taste buds exploding. Lip biting. I'm a beard against the skin type of guy. A storm in an ear a tongue in a place. A taste of salt, a taste of red licorice. A hot tamale stung mouth. The flick of a bee. The hammer on a thumbnail. The clench of a grip. The collapse of a sigh. The blood flow to a spot. The rise and the raising. Pulsation. Dilation. Eyes blinked close. An electrical spark. A bruise. Did I say that already? A collision of teeth. A form factor. A ransom of feelings left for a hostage heart. Small dimes in your purse that you occasionally find and remember the brief bright shiny moments of our connection. Threads broken, shoelaces untied, things left undone. Unsaid. A courageous mouth now quiet. A mouth I used to own with mine. A chance I used to take. A dance I used to fake. Taking an elevator and remembering the way you smelled. Crossing a doorway and remembering the way you felt. Waking and seeing you. Waking and missing you. Waking and plodding along with remnants and cut pieces of a collage of you. And then. Again. A brief and brightened skirmish. A connection. A response. A fold. A tighten. A fever. An anguish. A reminiscence of a time when I could just merely walk over and you were there. And the way you greeted me. And the dull and sudden thud of your departure. As I bit my lip when you walked away. 
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