“I’m going through you withdrawals,” I say.
“Maybe you took too much,” you say.
I close my eyes and imagine the sweat and condensation gathering on your skin, across your ribs, around the nape of your neck, and on your sculpted abdomen. At first I’m offended, but then I realize that maybe you’re right—I sipped in every possible inch of you, first filling my belly and chest, and then letting you spill throughout my body until I could not breathe anything but thoughts and visions of you. And now that we’re in separate structures, with far too many streets between us, all I feel is absence. With eyes still closed, I trace my fingertips along the path where you once were.
letters by amber
