and you possess me more than twice.
I follow the pathway of your ghost,
retracing the sound of your step,
your touch on the small of my back.
The palm passes through me,
I remember the moment well;
another spirit pressing against the sinew of my spine
and rolling through my torso.
drumming my brain with sweet clippings of the North.
Don’t turn the corner, I beg of you.
If you do, pull yourself back into the frame,
knock as loud as you can
and I shall come running.
I am already leaning to listen.
Your ghost is whispering to me,
as is my regret.
For one more hour, one more step,
one more hand on the small of my back.
Let those dark eyes gaze upon me,
Let the corners of your mouth gently lift,
follow my own.