‘On earth as it is...”

“I miss you.” 

“Well, I’m right here.” He would say. 

His brown skin lifting to a grin. 

Teeth shining wide like a full moon and  eyes as small as a crescent.

I miss you. 

The you that I knew. The before I knew, you.

Your taste is leftover meat sandwiches heated between two slices of white bread.

Homemade sauce with a vinegar twang and garlic bite.

Your smell is musky mint lager and baby oil.

Shea butter and baby oil.

Your sound is a silent hum.
 And oblivious footsteps, heavy on a squeaky floor.