Sometimes it’s okay to have ghosts,
A ghost of flesh, bone, and wings stalks me,
She kisses my scarred knees,
Pats my shoulder,
And sends me off.

Three months later I’ll come back,
She’ll come back,
Embraces follow,
Maybe some affair,
And while we stand there,
I’ll be thinking
“I don’t want to leave you this time.”
She’ll say the same.

What do you do when life is right?
The pieces fit,
The poems stop,
The peace comes.
The panic calms.

What do you do when the kiss is true?
What do you do.