This Sandwich Has No Mayonnaise

I miss your voice, your touch, your laugh.
I miss the way the air always felt thicker anytime you’d come around. The way you’d always show up dancing as if you never felt down, or always wanted me to smile.
I miss your arms, all your warm embraces. I miss your drunkenness, I miss your smell.
I miss your accent, the way words flew out of your month like music. I miss your music.
I miss the way your lips would draw a smile touching your bright eyes anytime I’d say “Hey ya!” covering my face. I miss your taste. I miss your face.
I miss the way you always knew how to connect your mind to mine, the way you’d always complete my interrupted thoughts.
I miss what you showed me, what you taught me.
I miss how your skin always felt smoother than theirs. The way you always made me feel safe.
I miss your hair against mine, your conscious weighing against my will.
I miss you and I always will.
Oh sir, I miss you so.