Him.

The craving for his touch ,

wounding me more than that glass piece .

Green blue hue here and there ,

While handing him his gadget ,

The warm humid palm of his,

Oh , that's the feel I miss.

Gentle , full of longing ,

His fingertips over mine ,

The walk we walk ,

His arms too reliable,

His wrist too desirable .

The friction that took off

my Watch to the ground ,

His breathes, heavy ones.

The rough raw voice.

How could I not want it more,

How could my heart be at it's shore.