Why can I describe you
only by the scent of spring’s arrival,
Of the outdoors fertile by pollen,
Of newborn leaves alive and months from falling?
Why can I describe you
only by streetlights illuminating the land
below the intangible sky,
Saving the shadows who dance along brick and sneak down alleyways
and hide as strangers drive by?
Why can I describe you
only by that song from 1992
which we never even listened to together
but which understands us better than even we do
and which traps me on repeat
of the retro beats emitted from you?
Why can I describe you
only by the taste of your lips
under the first moon?
Everytime my tongue reminisces,
That first kiss resumes.
Why can I describe you
only by the tightness in my palm from your grasp?
Though your hand left long ago,
Its print remains as my hand strains to the past.
Why can I describe you
with sensations alone?
How can I grieve
when all I have up my sleeve
is your scent, your light,
One crescendo, one night,
And an empty palm?
Can my worship be sacred
with but a lyricless psalm?
Why can I describe you
only with untethered sensations that will
fly as the years do?
With no words quite precise and true,
I am left lonely
with only the undeniable erasure
of the indescribable nature
of you.