What can I say here. I had to revisit the poem from 2012, because the man that inspired this told me yesterday that he missed me. TMI? Perhaps. I still really, really like this poem.
If I say I loved you,
let me shade love with the metonym
a drunk tastes distilled in gin,
or the orgasm a crackhead lit in his brain once
and tries to get back
every fucking time he smokes
and misses.
If I say I miss you,
know that I miss you like the gone
of a pulled tooth, like genital warts
bringing on cancer later, like herpes
coming back every time my guard is down
to sting the corner of my smile.
Susan Daniels Poetry 