The Scent of your Echo

silhouette

When you

are gone

The tenebrous swath of curved emptiness, in your shape
that breathes human-scented breath, and attracts cat hair
and that smiles a wraith’s shadow of your smile
precious, but cold, in the creases of my blindness
but has no warmth, like you do
and which my fingers grasp at, in half-broken desperation
like strings of dissolving sinew
hanging with livid tenderness in the barren air
that still remembers
the echo
of your form
and your skin
and the weight of your footsteps

is worth sharing a room with
sometimes
just so I get the bed to myself.

Because that is just fantastic.

Seriously.

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