Ghost Dreams of Reflection

The radio choices of 

    Hole-in-the-wall diners.

The deep-set eyes, earthy like 

    The coffee you consume.

Every morning your breathing rhythm.

The sharp winter air through 

    The plaid curtains from 

    The open smoking windows of 

    Your rent controlled apartment.

The overcast sky down in 

    My stomach when in 

    Moments I see me wrapped around 

    The extremities of 

    A separated soul that exists without me, in full.

My claws cup

    Slippery visions of

    You that can’t be named.

Because what sound does a ghostly reflection make?

I would be one of those mothers who squeezes all breath from 

    Her baby before it can declare 

    Its own name.

Or me.

Or mine.

Or worst, we.

I’m living to give myself over entirely to 

    Someone else.

And I’ll call it love and it's all because 

    I can’t locate 

    The breadcrumbs I’m sure 

    They left me when 

    They gave me my heart.