Familiar faces

I have returned to words
The way you return to a lovers hand,
        The moments where you tip-toe and whisper
Scribbling sweet nothing lines
On blank page corners,
      It took oceans for me to find you again
And seas to find myself
          I have barreled in, like haphazard waves
Against tired shorelines
Clumsily searching for scrap paper
    As if the words are conditional,
And as long as I embrace them
 Each fleeting syllable leaks
From my restless fingertips
I can pretend this is not a poem for you,
The one who returns words
to my desert mouth
As if my return to poems have nothing to do
With the way you speak to me,
My words are absent of the ways you look to me
Hopeful, and soothing,
  You stain my paper parchment,
Yellowing the corners with a soft glow
Familiar and broken down
To comfortable to leave.