I miss you most
I miss you more

There exists an infinite number of poems
that live as dust and decay.
They never burst from saliva bubbles
or bloom from the taste buds of their creators.
They loll for centuries on the tips of tongues
and beg for a moment of intoxication to escape.

I miss you most
I miss you more

I miss you the way I miss the unspoken
lines of love, the unwritten rhythms.

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