It is almost cruel
how the scent that your skin left
on my sheets
still finds a way to charm my dreams.

The fragments of you
with which I shamelessly decorate my conscience
and everything in-between
have found their way to my center.

They rise up in my throat
and I try to force them down
but it is always too late at night
to find the strength.

As I bury myself
in all the words I wish you'd say
I feel as if
my bones might turn to dust.

The entire world
might have dissolved around me;
if it has,
I haven't noticed.

The only time I'm sure
that I exist
is when I see my reflection
in your eyes.