Am I all that lingers behind your closed eyes?
Does your body still burn where my hands left sighs?
Do you search for my scent in the folds of your sheets,
Fingers tracing the warmth where our heat used to meet?

My perfume haunts the air like a siren’s refrain,
Red lips pressed to glass, a parting mark stained.
You long for the ghost of my breath on your skin,
Yet I slip through your fingers, gone once again.

You summon me back with a whisper, a plea,
A question disguised in a need for relief.
You love how I look in the hush before dawn,
Mascara smudged, lips tasting like sin and sweet song.

Your eyes drink the light on my glistening frame,
Yet I wonder if you even hear when I say your name.
You are lost in the way my mouth shapes desire,
Between syllables spoken and embers of fire.

Your hands find devotion in tracing my spine,
Mapping the ***** where lust intertwines.
The garter strap snaps, a teasing demand,
Your thoughts pulled deep between the curve of my hand.

Sometimes you’re lucky, sometimes you’re not,
It depends how well you play with the lock.
You crave the way my breath lingers low,
Each exhale a whisper that tells you to go slow.

But your hunger is stopped by a cigarette’s glow,
Redder than lips that you ache to know.
The ember flickers, a cruel little tease,
While your body still hums, still begs, still needs.

All I leave you is smoke and a lipstick-stained ****,
A window left open, the curtain half-cut.
No clothes to bury your face in and breathe,
Just the ghost of my warmth in the cold air I leave.

Night falls again, and so does your pride,
Fingers twitch toward the phone at your side.
You wonder if I know, if I even care,
Yet my touch still lingers in the space that we shared.

A phantom, a fever, a dream wrapped in lace,
Yet you still ache to cradle the side of my face.
You curse how I haunt you, yet plead for the chase,
And adore how I vanish without a trace.

You want what you can’t have—I made sure of that,
You hunger for truth, but I don’t play with fact.
You ask what we are, what this is meant to be,
Yet I love the game, the slow unraveling of me.

And when next we meet, your pulse skips, it stalls,
Until we’re lost in the rhythm, the heat, the sprawl.
Your hands find worship in the temple of skin,
Your name on my lips as I let you back in.

We fall, we shatter, we slip into dreams,
You wake to a bed that still hums with me.
Yet I am not there, just strands left behind,
Scarlet reminders that still twist in your mind.

Tell me, am I all that you think about?