Just like a phantom limb,

you leave me here

my brain trying to send you signals

and feeling as though you could be there,

should be there–

without you there I have lost something of myself,

or so it seems.

Where is the bionic substitute,

the one that restores my mobility

the one that restores the signal to my brain?

There is too much I want to tell you

and I know for a fact that if you were here,

you wouldn’t have the capacity to hear it all anyway.

Even still

I romance over the details,

I imagine you looking back at my pretty mouth

and marveling at the wisdom that I learned to speak

asking me to tell you more.

Perhaps its just as well:

this is where you stay

tucked in my mind with the sparks of lost connection

short circuiting the whole system

so all I can do is lay in bed for a moment longer

and wonder why

you are still my phantom limb.

Artwork in photo by Sophie Kahn, Brooklyn


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