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Tags: poetry

Some people are like ghosts

I knew the shape of her face as well as my own, 

but true contact marks us deeper than skin, 

beyond flesh and vapor, 

realizing that we can never go back to a world's beautiful axis without 

being suspended inside it's crippling inertia.

When pulled into eyes like oceans,

vast enigmatic depths below such a glittering surface, 

a place I could long to be enveloped by, but never know how to reach out for.

When you remain a detailed echo, 

traces of disconnected flashes left in me.

The lingering figure gazing out the bedroom window to the dark, motionless streets before dawn, 

evaporating before I can speak your name, 

the curve of a bare spine nearby, 

faint streams of moonlight falling on strands of dark hair that smell of jasmine and other flowers.

An earthly sweetness I can never name but, like you, have memorized the specific essences of.

I know the smile glowing in the strobing effect of sunlight and shadows passing through trees, 

your car gliding along the road's winding scenery, 

the simple movement of lips, 

just part of what no single definition can sum up.

For someone who is always there, 

carved into the marrow and cells, 

threaded to breath and dreams, 

the constant assembly of who we will become.

When pulled towards the ghostly shimmer of sands after passing storms, 

laughing while trying to keep up with you, the sound a chorus with the crashing waves, 

the place I could long to be consumed by but never own the map to.

When you remain a detailed ghost, 

the resolute traces left in me.

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