Long-term Love

Jennifer Miller

I have craved solitude

in the way that an addict knows she will die

without her chosen substance,

and yet the moon sees all the nights

when I place a pillow against my back,

as though you were there

sleeping in tandem,

as though my bare shoulder could forget

the surest kiss it ever knew.

Sometimes it feels like

we are children holding empty tin cans

connected by a string.

I hold the can up to my ear,

listening to all that is not being said,

feeling the vibrations between us

while you do the same.

Who can understand the way

hearts are stitched together

like patchwork quilts?

We are scraps who found

a place beside each other

in a design we can’t even see,

brushing our fingertips over worn threads

to be certain there are no tears in the fabric. 

First published in Gypsophila (February 2025)