Indecisive?

What do you want of me?
the ghost, the lone lover writing poetry?
What do you want from me?
surrender, remorse, or regret..
Do you want me to write you
within boundaries,
cordon my tongue
and swallow my memories,
or do you want me to break free,
like species in winter
and nature in spring.
Do I thrive on this heartache
or convert you into words,
nothing to touch,
but so much to feel?
Can you wipe away your hands?
The bold yet tender fingers
still stuck at the back of my head,
can you burn the shards of skin
you left all over me,
the first hold and first kiss,
can you redesign the corners,
the pale color of the walls
the old carpet and huge window,
can you distort my reminiscence?
the some hundred years of you
that rushed ahead of me.
It is everything except of leftovers,
it's silent echoes in the dark,
in the cracks,
in places nobody knows
nobody looks at.
In the heart, where vision blurs
as your sun shimmers
in the flickering love I once saw in your eyes.