The light your presence made pulls away from my heart,
lingering inside and swelling for years,
the spaces between promises growing
like rings loosening from our fingers.

This ghost knows me well,
so please do not reach for me anymore,
the trails I've made are not yours,
your steps only make tremors when
walking along darkened roads.

In the distance there are still glimpses at the edges,
a code that we may have written here,
taps along skin and pages entirely inked,
someone I reached for when hands and lips were shelter.

When the room was perfumed with your body,
the yearning that would pull me to your naked form,
blooming and enfolding as if you would never let me go,
as if I could see the way your eyes do.

The love your presence made recedes from my blood,
echoes and swells beneath my skin for years,
the spaces between who we are and what we want
akin to a flame torching any mementos we shared.

This ghost knows me well,
so never reach for me again,
the trail I carve now belongs to no one,
your steps only ripple along the dark roads
that have become my home.

In the distance there will always remain glimpses,
flashes of memory's specific codes written,
taps along our windows and bare skin,
someone I reached for when eyes and vows were shelter.

When the room was perfumed with love made,
the embraces that pulled you to my longing body,
blooming and enfolding as if we could never part,
as if I could mimic the way your heart beat against mine.