Morning Ghost
I woke up wanting your fingers in my hair,
your warm breath on my neck, and our bodies tangled,
caught in the soft, unruly dawn.
The memory of us lingers like mist,
fading and filling the space all at once.
I reach for you in the quiet ache,
in sheets that remember your weight, your warmth,
and in the spaces between breaths, I find you,
a ghost of a dream, soft and fierce,
held close, even as the morning slips away.
Copyright © ElizabethRose Wilkin | Year Posted 2024
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