Patience makes patients.
Your absence is an
Annoying Presence.
The inverse of your
Present and accounted
For mass. The cool
Brush of air that
Anticipates our hands
Joining, sadly mimicked
By a lingering and dull, stale
Heat on the fingers, like
A hotplate seeking
Something to scorch and
Blister and blacken. The
kisses I plant on your
Absence make
My lips chap
and my skin dry, and
my face looks like
a stack of pancakes
getting stale.

Yes, everything is better
In your presence. The berries
Taste better, and the sun
Doesn't make me red. You
Smell good and balmy drafts
Soothe me when you move.
Like Tahitian beauties
Fanning me with palm leaves.

To endure
Your absence, present,
Requires patience. But
Banish your absence,
Presently, or I will become
A mental patient.