I wonder when
your parasitic nature...

I feel your hands
circling...

I am a ghost to your reality
when I am not there...

Fluorescent lights are strewn
across the ceiling...

Your memory feels like
fog with no lighthouse...

Eyes closed.
Let my hands...

Heat, she felt
as his fingers traced...

On a stormy Sunday,
when I'm eating chocolate kisses...

...pain
is not always visible...

if
I had to...

my lips
are dry like bones...

I am learning
to rest...