I miss. I long. I thirst

for the warm candleglow
understanding interlocking
spilling golden on the contours 
crevices of faces.

how they can twine
separate strands of their words,
the stars of their laughter,
and tears all into one braid.

for the resonating resevoir
of radar red intuition
pinning a million words to
one look or a single word. 
how they can read
between and beneath
a well rehearsed script or a polished look

the way we give
words to our wounds
the way they listen to not just the words heard,
but the unsaid
morsels of moments that bring so much strength
layer by layer fueling each other with courage,
to find, to reach for who we really are
to live, to speak from the heart, unafraid

I miss. I long. I'm starved

for the feminine touch.