maybe, I'm not really here,

maybe, you're not really there.

But I still just assume
forget your face-
a nuclear winter,
a desert for the alkie
hooked on water.

if I could only binary it
as it pops on a screen,
but my hand won't forget
the small of your back anyway-

Waistland.
You boiling water for spaghetti-
An eternity of my palm on your hip.

Yeah, this is as much a haunting
As the moon is a ghost,

no.

No Reaper,
Thus no ghost.

maybe I'm not really here,
but you are most certainly there,

the Immortal,
the Undead,

(strange I follow)    .