I miss him

I miss him, like I miss a limb or a brother, the man gone bad, then good, saving himself from some fate worse than death only to have death take him, that scummy son of a bitch who stuck his dick where it never belonged, even some he knew I loved, a con man for a hand job, who ached for love he never got, I miss him the way I miss an itch after years (when) it (is) suddenly gone, I miss the wink I got when I knew he was up to no good – again. I miss the lies, his tie, the ethics he threw under the bus with each expired ticket, the man who thought all women available and was right, the man who lied when men said the same about him, I miss him and the dreams he gave up, when they seemed to hard to make real, when I dreamed his dreams for him when he got too tired, carrying them the way Simon did Christ’s cross until those dreams killed him, and I lived with his guilt. I miss him, like a miss a brother, his dreams, his failures, his cheats and cons, I miss him, and always will.