You are in my dream-Plath madness
sifting through plumes
of dust-fucked roads and impatient feet
I think,
You were a ghost
in lurid red
threatening the Sun
with the curve of your wrist.
The price of inspiration
is the end of your smile.
I count the days like so many addictions
lost
and inhumed
at the sake of your fingers.
I love until the blood is dry
until my mitochondria burst
until we love - until we ache
until your ghost returns to the ground
and you were just a dream.

01/01/2008

Author's Note: He's in my dreams.

Posted on 01/02/2008
Copyright © 2024 Michelle Floyd