cache (n).

how strange that
we run out of
kisses for someone's
face, shoulders, hands
and without knowing
when it will go from
this thing we do -
to place our lips
on each other's skin -
to this thing that
we think about
alone at night.

Sometimes I run my fingers
over the place on my wrist
you liked to kiss in the
quiet moments like after
dinner or when I asked you
a question that made you
feel too much;
here where there is
a river of veins
blue from the blood
held inside.