Memories

I riddled the thought of your return with a thousand burning leaves in some old brown bag.
Yet your body sat ornate in such pristine clarity that it could not be real.
Indeed, I asked myself if you were real; I never answered.
And so I wrenched and screamed until you finally left me,
 but your voice still rang clear in my mind.
And you sat on a loft and made love to the air around you.
Oh, it seems that you'll never be mine.