The moon in her night path is following me, whipping up emotions and thoughts to strong for my restless sleep. The radio’s smooth voice stirs the smoldering fires, they fly burning out of me. I want you to be touching me so deeply. And yet your ghost is too present for my tender heart. She thinks you are here for real, more tangible than your projected phantom. In it's perfectness the night lays absent of your needed presence. All I am offered as a condolence to fill in the gaping hole is tea, cigarettes, and sympathy. They barely block the voice of my loneliness. The empty space of you. Sweet smoke escaping from my lips taking the place of your kiss. The cold air creeps under my shirt in place of your strong hands. The moon in her fullness has driven me mad, while we race though the bright night sky. I awake to the cold reality of your fleeing ghost.
Created: Jul 13, 2010Document Media