I thought I might be addicted
to the feeling of your warm breath
ghosting along the back of my neck,
or the all consuming weight
of your hands holding me down,
and framing my hips.
Yet, I have barely a stutter to show for the
void you left within me, no outward sign, except for
the fine tremors that wrack my body at night,
As the memories of your fingers
trailing paths along my skin,
become impossible to ignore.
I hear the words you would whisper
into the darkness, the feeling of your lips
as you mouthed them down the length of my spine,
searing them there, like a brand,
with the heat of your determination
and the fervency of your love.
Stoic in the belief that you could nurture
the tiny flame in my heart,
into a light as blinding as yours,
But that insignificant flicker
became a roaring fire
that burned in your name.
An inferno, too bright and wild to contain,
and so I am haunted by our memories
seeing and feeling you each night,
Branded and hunted by the phantom of your love.