Spectre

And yet, I can smell your skin,
Sweet, and yet, memory isn't,
Motive enough for it to have,
Meaning to me, no longer,
Does it inspire resolution,
No longer are my passions fixated,
On your singularity,
On your silvered mind,
On our severed tie,
I sunk with that ship,
I saw the depths without you,
And in my dire moments,
When life thought so little of me,
I held my breath beneath the storm,
And I learned that,
I discovered that,
All I needed was inside of me,
And I went back to who I was,
To a time I knew my name,
Apart from your own,
And the loneness was bitter,
And the truth sunk into my flesh,
As the fangs of an asp,
Though, I'd felt that venom before,
In your own words,
When you'd set me to fall,
And pick me back up,
Eventually,
From wherever you left me,
Remorseless,
And yet, I can feel your hair in my hands,
Coarse, and yet, it makes no course for action,
The meaning is a wearied candle,
With the means yet to burn,
Though, without fire,
Without spark,
Retired to the shadows,
As spectre now,
We fade.