I think this as I step
out of the downpour into my body, a trough
where this yearning collects and solidifies
into something like a plea, an Eloi, Eloi stuck
in my esophagus and oh, my god, I miss the ire,
the intimate, elegant stun of you, the radiant
obscurity of light through fog, and the rainbows
scattered on our cabinets by the sun on shattered
glass.

Indigo Hawkins

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maybe-i-miss-you/