The things I miss about you

The things I miss about you cannot always be seen.

There is a smell that takes me back 20 years to when you used that cheap deodorant, and I was sitting in your university dorm room unable to escape it. Stinging my eyes, wishing you would not put that much on.

Practising the waltz, with your hand on the small of my back, your palm pressing me to comply. 

A gentle smile, sneaking a look in my direction, embarrassed you had been caught. No one is supposed to desire the quiet tomboy.

You were so proud of that car, the way you pressed a button and it lowered to the ground on parking. You showed it off to me, you thought I should know how fabulous and european it was. My approval was important.

I miss the way you danced, that zombie like rocking truely oblivious to how much space on the dancefloor you commanded.

You would stare at the waves in a trance, and I knew you were designing something in the way the water moved, black ripples shifting with the tide.

I miss the way you touched my neck, just your fingertips as if I was an egg shell.

I miss you all in some small way from time to time, when life's memories interject the present day.
The men who have shaped my life.