There are terrible ghosts in you and I,
nameless specters that learn how to wear our faces
and relinquish interlaced fingers in the night's most silent hour,
the one where nothing but the essence
of our dreams and wandering anonymous spirits

Stalk a touchstone to inhabit,
even if only for a moment to once again know
the memories and longings that swept through others,
flashes of warmth or the aftertaste of a kiss.

There are places between the living and the gone
that we accidentally graze from time to time,
nameless territories that our heart's most quiet
chambers sense whenever we part

And know nothing but the cold spirits passing into us,
looking for a touchstone to inhabit
even if the moments siphoned from us
are just a teasing glimmer to them of embraces.

There are terrible ghosts in you and I,
nameless specters that keep us
as close as we can be in the dark,
hand in hand and wandering our
dreamscapes to stay safe.