Yokes

Yokes 

I miss you sometimes, I do

The thought of you crosses; I find myself staring into a speck of paint

Penetrating into the color fading past light into what is capable of being touched

With fingers, seen with eyes and then imagined in my mind 

The sensations meld with clarity of distance

That know you are away and then here, perpetually here

In these waves phasing into whispers of debate  

As the memories confound like traffic accidents that a vehicle may slow

Even though the road is not blocked and a safe, yet moderate distance

Is kept between ones vehicle and the car in front as not to extend

The time it takes that as that traveler imbibes the seconds to stare  

One does not; one does not look with the indulgence of recollection

For the visceral magnet of what may be had could be all the more damaging

So my views are into the piercing motion of non-motion

The dynamic compromise of wanting to hold desire  

In palpation of artery and return in vein; the fluid it winds its way

To miss you sometimes, I do  

This road it keeps me yoked as a tandem ox severed, choking on occasion

That you are neither the mammal absent in this device, nor its creator

My throat it constricts sideways pulling always to the left  

As bed sheets lay and my body insists on sleeping on the same side

Despite the open room, the vacancy is engulfing at times

I miss you sometimes, I do  

The looks, the wonder are all asking me tonight

If at any point I ever had permission for you to want me to apply the ache

Of loneliness and such simplistic vaccines, even if the inoculant was seasonal

Knowing influenza abounds each solstice with a repugnant comeuppance  

I take umbrage that the damage of want is corrosive  

As in this I simply revel in the cushion of want for a chest to assert

That neither of us suffers in this carnival of fields to plow

Knowing we will return to the yoke, but in this we have but in a moment found balance