Desire is a haunting
1.
The worst ghosts don’t leave scars –
the kindly ones do, a
kind of grace
to have something to point to, a crooked
reminder that the past is inescapable, carved
into our bodies even as memory mists.
2.
Desire is a haunting.
It lives in the pinched corners of my mouth
in each smile
at someone else’s news – the beautiful ease of it,
the thoughtlessness of bodies
that simply function.
The ghost of a tiny body in pain, of
what they took to make it go away.
3.
I hope you never have to know how much I want you.
It can’t be measured in the years and months of waiting,
trying, (failing), hoping;
in the number of needles jammed into soft flesh,
in each held breath, each
jagged exhale.
4.
Is this what a ghost is?
Not ready
for past or future tense,
dwelling in the agony of eternal
present; unseen, unknown,
feared and hoped for in equal measure.
To be denied an ending,
happy or otherwise,
fingers scrabbling for something tangible, complete.