a transient soul.

and you – what tethers your soul to this
vagrant world? what little good does sleep
do for a cold monotone body whose soul
dreams of you, and only you in technicolour?
i chewed that thought until only the sinew
remained: you. you stitch together most
things in my life, you call me by name
to the skies on summer nights and
when december comes, you are winter
itself. where eternity starts – you are the
heart of it. if you were to ask me,
to offer an unbridled answer as to
why you are on the tip of my tongue,
i cannot string the words necessary.
instead, i'd invite you to look through
the world through my eyes and cast just
one gaze upon yourself, and you’d have
your answer stirring in your chest.
and so, i find myself as your
willing ghost. however lonely a life
it is.