your face is all and none.
i see you in a passing cloud
a crowd, where i am sure i glimpse the soft summer earth of your hair.
gone.
the room swells and settles,
i gaze at empty air,
and see you looking back.
time has not washed me clean of you.
im still branded yours,
yours,
only ever yours i swear.
your ghost
has pressed its lips to mine,
whispered wild, intangible things,
made me sick with them.
my tongue ripens, rots
and i am left dumb.
