Missing Parts

Your fingers, love, are missed.
The way they find purchase in copper
hair as you kiss me
or how they follow hollows
curves and mounds
delicious skin prickles
shivers
shudders
where they journey.
Your lips, love, are missed.
Their moist breath against neck
traveling slow
a sojourner of truth
unravelling my secrets
one by one
delicate
disastrous
until I am undone.
Your voice, love, is missed.
Its timber in the dark resonates
against my mind;
like a catechism
my soul echoes
I love you
need you
want you
in this dark night.