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hyperopic regression

Up close,
your eyebrows are a forest
of slim, graceful trees
and you smell something
like cedar

like the closet
I used to hide in
as a child,
something touched
with wild abandon
dusted with the musk
of adventure
or musty dust mote
floating
in a ray of Sunday,

My god -
how I've missed you
so

I've memorized all
the details
of your absence
each empty click
of the clock's arms
reverberates
to embrace the minutiae
of the day

I still hold you
close,
enclosure of my heart
sequester
of my most beloved self

Still
catch your warm scent
coffee-roasted familiar

Still regard you
with limerance,
limelight lover
bright center of my epic
vision

but
then
again
I have been
so nearsighted
in love