baby blue

this muffled sound,
this inaudibility,
isn’t you. this isn’t
how i remember
the way your voice
sounded. a low-
pitched haze. a subtle
feathery sound.

i still see how your
fingers move from
place to place. from
the cup in front of
you to the way they
rest on your knee,
make their way
to the slight
curve in my back.

it was visionary–
the way you finished
my sentences and
never turned your
eyes from mine;
like you had never
looked at blue eyes
before in your life.

cup to your lips.
smoke quickly follows.
and you haven’t yet
looked away.

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