Haunted

There are roads I’ll never travel. Towns I shall not/cannot visit. Thresholds that I’ll never cross again.

There are songs I cannot bear to hear...mere echoes now, faint echoes.

There are memories that plead to be forgotten: The arms that will never hold me, the hands I cannot clasp, the hopes beyond all hoping. There are the lips I’ll never kiss again.

Are those raindrops tapping on my window? Or has my ghost come calling?

When the sun slumps from the sky, and the doves begin to cry, my ghost comes calling in the night. She tiptoes to my waiting side, beneath the witching moon, to dance in the silvered light again. And dance again we do, just you and I, our once in a lifetime dance, again.

You whisper to my heart anew the promises long broken. And I make love to you again (and again and again), in the desperate, tender, aching ways that only a man who loves a wraith can. I hold you through the dark of night in my inept and empty, begging arms. I hold you close, then closer, closer still…all the while knowing (what all who love lost spirits come to know)…there will someday come that vagrant midnight when the tapping on my window will simply be...
the rain.

Gone with daybreak is my haunting. Come with sunlight are my tauntings and my truths. In the day’s glare I remember:

There are lips I’ll never kiss again.

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