Are you a beginning,
a light through the fog
or just another ghost
drifting through my hallway?
You tasted like laughter
caught in sunlight,
smelled like a memory
I’m never meant to forget.
You saw my smile in the dark
and asked what it meant.
Now I lie awake at 4 a.m.,
asking myself
the very same thing.
I float out of bed,
start the coffee,
add a pinch of cinnamon—
because it makes me think of you.
Still half-asleep,
I stir the silence,
and sip the memory warm.
My soul, perfumed faintly with dreams,
rests in the cold sheets,
haunted by the hush of night,
aching only
to breathe in
the irises
once more.