I’m haunted by the words
You whispered in my ear last night.
We were lying there,
A tangle of arms and legs.

My hand was lost
In your slowly graying hair.

I’m haunted by the touch of
Your fingers, gently gracing
My shoulder. My back. My thigh.

May face was buried
In the nape of your neck.

The memory of you is cruel.
Acid has a similar sting,
And the sting makes me write poetry.
I can still smell you on my pillow.