Your weight left an imprint on the couch
And it haunts the high ceilings
Now it's fading slowly like a feather bouncing back
Because you are no longer there to renew the stamp
And so it will fade, until it is but a ghostly memory

She smelled of roses and rumors.
I found her in the grass among snakes.

Her soul was made of matches and,
she knows my love of playing with fire.

How can a woman of such passion
find solace in my worn down abode.

I have yet to find that answer,
hoping one day she will call my heart home.

[DK]