4/3, Poem, Tanka Plus

(A few extra syllables fall off the poetry tree)

My Petunia

Softness of her hand…

I will tent your eyelids, love.

Her hair finds no trees.

I miss you and fold your hand 

Into mine. Is it a dream your

Bed now a shell. Your monkey-

we share the missing. 

(Written on way to the airport to look at her first choice college. I have spent a long time being with her while missing her with her here. It’s some kind of verb you’d get if you have one too on too on the cusp of leaving).