I trace my fingers
on the rims of your silhouette
As we breathe the same air
your hands reach my waist
with touch that isn't your embrace
it only takes me a second to realize
that it isn't you
and
that I am merely
moving
with the timeless chase
of my shadow
my echo
my only friend

Its been a month
Since I last wrote poetry
For a person
Who could cry everyday
I have not been myself
Lately
I am just flesh and bones
Amongst my own ghost

Laundry from last week on my bed
Stale coffee on the bed side table
Trash on one corner of my studio
I lie on this bed
Lifeless
Not dead
But not alive either.

We striped every night
Clothes
Skin
Until I striped to the bone
And realized
You were merely
Taking off your
Many façades
While I stood here
Bare
Naked

You say
I am your home
I am merely
A 200 sq feet room
With no bed to sleep
No chairs to sit
No food to feed
Yet you lay here
Next to me
On the creaking floor
Under a
Dusty ceiling fan
We drink our tears
Nibble on our emotions
While I peek
As you walk to your home
Through these rusty window bars
I realize
With you
My heart feels like
A ruin with a mansion's garden
Yet each evening you
Come right back
To it.