Loving a Ghost
The last time you kissed me,
it was as if to say
let go.
Let go.
I held onto the image of you
walking through the door
hoping that I could somehow
will you back in.
I'd gladly accept just the
ghost of you.
It's difficult to love,
an apparition, but
I'd kiss your bruised bones
and wipe the sleep from your sockets.
I could accept your death
because you were the only one
that made me feel
alive.
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