Our friends called you a ghost,
But you were always a dove to me,
Hanging back, voice low,
A quiet presence
Or unnoticed absence.
But then you were that but at my side,
Consistently, and often,
A warm weight at my elbow
Pressed tight on too-small couches
Looking at my folded hands
At intervals throughout the movie,
And my breathing was artifice,
Exaggerated,
So every intake touched my arm to yours.
And I was surprised to hear you laugh
When you rarely had before
And I could pretend it was me at your side
That made it so;
I was still young enough to be
Distracted by the thought of kissing,
And you were so,
So distracting.