A blood shot bride of nostalgia,
I picture you as a memory,
fleeting and still full of life.
Believe you can control this,
you give me an image, implant in my brain,
and with each thought, you take away
a piece of the chain that attaches me
to the current reality.
I envy you, your power.
Shape shifting ghost,
appear as a white dove on a grave,
a black cat on my porch.
Arms around my waist, to hold me back.
A splinter image of the past,
an off note within the sheets,
I can still see you,
still hear you.
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