I grasp your hand as if it's the last piece
of Earth I hold
before falling off a cliff.

I remember your scent as well as a child would,
like the smell of fresh cookies coming from the bakery when it opens in the morning.

I feel your gentle hug, warming me,
like that first sip of coffee as it trickles
down my throat.
Not to replace those forehead kisses,
which ripple like the whipped cream
when it floats at the top of my cup.

I compare you to the comfort of my most worn pajamas.
You feel so familiar despite the holes and tears, which make the unwearable
Yet I keep them anyway

At least I can still keep them, but you
I cannot keep.
The cliff is looking slippery and steep;
our hands refuse to meet.

you let go