Thirty-eight.

Passion means that I don't know how to do anything half-way.
Of course I miss things. But things don't have to mean people.
Sitting on the edge of the tub drawing while he takes a bath.
Tracing constellations on thighs, shoulders -
every area of exposed skin open territory for exploration.
Laughing, constantly, across bridges and sheets
and snowbanks and kitchens at two in the morning.
At night, we never left any space, and I was happy sometimes.
Only sometimes, because I didn't get to say what I wanted.

This, all of this, doesn't mean that I'm in the wrong place.

There was always a light in my mouth
that I couldn't do anything about.

Sometimes it's as simple as walking into a new house
and choosing the room that lets the most sun in.
You are that room.