How do I miss you? Let me count the ways.
I miss you as The Globe would miss its Shakespeare plays,
Or hummingbirds would miss their constant humming
Or desert travellers some proper plumbing,
Or as a Chinese chef would miss his wok
Or Captain Kirk the logic of his Spock;
Or as a mirror misses someone looking
Or disused ticket offices miss people booking,
Or office workers miss their breaks for tea
Or fine sea views would miss the sight of sea,
Or whoopee cushions miss a backside's sitting
Or grandmothers new twins in need of knitting.
As Shylock was to miss his pound of flesh
Or as a wire-mesh fence would miss its mesh,
Or Rugger and the Pope their Triple Crowns
Or sepia water-colourists their browns,
Or Thomas Gray’s first line its parting knell
Or Jesuits would miss the threat of Hell:
I miss you knowing when my laughter camouflages tears.
I miss you as my life would miss all its favourite years.