Salt Water

when a friend seems to disappear for a while (literally, in this case)

you tingle up my forearms
like dead skin cells
and non-feline satisfaction

I draw back
in flinches

I try to shake you
from my skin
but I smell burning milk
and get up to check the stove

nothing is on fire
but I’m not suggesting
we start to play with matches
my slumber is crooked to begin with
but now I’ll be obliged to keep the windows open
when I fret about burning curtains
and flaming thresholds
instead, I think I will begin to 
toss and turn
over not being able to sleep

it’s getting harder to remember
your tone of voice
your exact vocabulary
and which of your irises
has the freckles
I can’t recall the
natural structure
of your wrists,
or the angled curvature of your spine
but I imagine
your palms
could still envelope mine

I want to just carry you around
in my pockets
but it’s getting too warm
to lug around
extra weight
on my sides
unless you are made of paper
and rather inexpensive postage

maybe we can make up adventures
that will be better for us than naps
we could be aquarium fish
defending our plastic castles
wondering why these people
keep pushing their noses
against all our water