Your Ghost is Haunting Me.

When you smell someone, I wrote a poem about that.

Your Ghost is Haunting Me

 

Yeah.

 

Now,

I remember your scent, even.

 

The other day,

when I bumped into you at the health store, I could smell you.

That took me back.

 

Now,

when I close my eyes, I can see you in my bed, while your boyfriend was at home, or he was at work,  whatever, it doesn’t matter, I can smell you. I can smell you all over again.

 

Yeah…

 

Your scent lingers in my mind, and I can feel you against me.

 

I can see myself coming out of the bathroom and seeing you lying there, naked, in my bed one night during the summer. With your back turned to the open window, wine-drunk, curtains flowing with the wind as the white of the moon breaks right through the window, through the curtains, into the room, and shatters all over you. And the blankets are falling off your bare-a*s, and elegantly resting against the front of your legs, and I can see the back of your knees. I can.

 

Yeah,

 

Your ghost is haunting me.

 

Then,

I could never keep you there all night, could I?
You always had somewhere to be, with him. And I never resented him. I never resented you.

 

Your

ghost

is

haunting

me.

 

 

Yeah.