Attached it is thrown
Tossed aside
That last backwards glance
Dropping
Sinking
Sand through open fingertips
Projected
Splashed wickedly across my face
Painted within my irises
It is said
Grappling is synonymous
With coping
You are everywhere
Stitched into my very fabric
Linens I can press my face into
Lingering with the fragrance
Of your honeysuckle skin
Not haunted
But guided swiftly
My beacon in the dark
You are everywhere
Every creaking floor board
Sighs your name
Softly onto my neck
Can still feel your breath