I miss you
There is no sugar footed hobbit of ambiguity with the Riddler's staff prancing around a bush.
I know what I feel.
It is the intersection where the accident happened.
That moment where lonliness swerved, narrowly missed frustration, and collided with a busful of affection.
Through my shocked fingers I peer at the wreckage. Lead legs and a mind on fire claims the man in the mirror shard.
For in a growing archive of instants, all that I want is in you. And you are not here.
You are not the now that the victim is silently screaming for.
You are the mindscape the paramedics are imploring the victim to visit. A reason to hold on. A reason to keep fighting.

(Maybe the prose knows?)

Wilted widows' fingers linger on the cool glass, as the rain patter dances
The dust not content to inhabit the shelf back, but seeps into the longing glances
It felt that night, like frostbite.
The malicious mosquitos that present a pain, utterly intimate, and hence, totally alone
Pacing tracks in the monotonous wintersleep for a home better known
The throne of the warmth source lines the backpack straps
Do not, can not, will not collapse
In it's absence it is the only thing present
Business suited surety surrounded by clownish irreverance
These dry eyes itch as the chest wound bleeds
I never got what I asked for
Only fulfilled needs.
I miss you