The ghosts are haunting me again tonight.
Pulled down upon me by the falling of the twilight sky,
dusky and cold.
If I were to run to every tucked in corner of the earth,
I could not escape them.
Even in their beauty they wound me,
like the thorns of the rose that make flesh bleed.
And I do bleed.
I bleed with every thought of you and me.
I bleed the promises you made.
I bleed the whispered touching of our lips each night.
I bleed the thrill, and the ache, and the need we had for each other.
Hemorrhaging bittersweet remembrances from every pore.
I am a sieve, a colander.
A net whose holes are growing larger with every haul.
Our memories weigh too much for me to carry.
And so I await the morning's merciful light.
I await Apollo's chariot in its sunrise ride across the skies.
And I dream of the day when night is once again my friend,
wrapping me tight in its cool moonlight.
And all can be forgiven.

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