old but fitting

I miss the ground beneath my bare feet, raw slaps on the pavement eroding years of harsh grooves. The kind that make our bodies fit together, despite the fact that we were made apart. And the crooked teeth you’re always filing down, preparing for your feast of flesh. The things you’d do to quench your need, the things I need but cannot do. I miss the way the pavement comforts me, it’s harsh lines becoming soft pillows I can close my eyes and fall into. I feel alone, wandering in my shoes. My toes so close, yet so far from feeling you, from etching my story into your soft earth.