Poem: Medium

I dream of you sometimes.
When the cold is in my heart and bones
And I am lonely again
I wish that you are whispering to me,
And reaching out from some great, black
Mystical beyond.

So it was easy then
For him to say a name and sway on his
Black draped stage and flutter his fingers
Over my cheek,
In some mockery of how you once touched me.

I wanted it to be you so much
That the table bucked and rattled
With the strength of my want, and
I thought that I could smell you in him,
Taste once again your taste in my mouth,
Feel you moving with me, breathing your breath on my neck.

I ached for you and he saw it,
Cramming his pockets and purse with
My hope and hurt and desperation.
For a while I wanted to belive the lie
But I know that there is none of you left
The truth? There is no life after death.