His name begs to be spoken by my hungry lips,
and he is with me wherever I go.
Always just out of reach,
his breath a soft whisper on the skin of my neck.
His voice always known,
only heard as a memory of sound.
I close my eyes to see those eyes flashing mischief,
that mouth curving in amusement.
Would that I could see him, know him,
© Johanna Fugitt 2017