She doesn’t fit in my arms the way you used to
She has to tip toe to kiss me,
wrapping her fingers around the back of my neck.
She buries her face in my chest, but never on my shoulder.
My hands are too large to hold hers.
She isn’t the coincidental perfect match in bodies
that we used to be
—
I think you’ve ruined me
and there will always be a ghost of you
in every one that I get to love
and I will always be searching for
the way you looked at me
in the eyes of another
—
We get along well, deeply attracted to each other, holding back.