My lids rise soft to frosted space,
Where absence dwells yet holds your place.
I see your face, so sweet, so dear—
Soft as petals, ever near.

Your breath, my favourite rhythm’s song,
A lullaby I’ve loved so long.
Your cheeks rest gently on the bed,
A pillow blessed beneath your head.

In this dream’s haze, I draw in close,
My lips to yours, a butterfly’s ghost.
And now I wonder, could it be?
Perhaps the pillow is worthy of thee.