When I was with others, I would be plagued by the ghost of their beauty.
I would be alone in bed at home
And they would haunt me,
Only the ones I was with of course.
Their faces would crowd in on me.
Pressing in my attachment.
And this was problematic because when they were gone, when it was over,
The ghosts would remain.
They would stay!
Hanging around so long after their bodies had gone.
Catching me out when I was alone
Making me sweat.
But here I am.
Lying here in this pitch darkness.
And I feel the pleasantness of our recent time together,
And I expect your ghost too.
But I can't see her.
It's different because in the darkness is only a shape.
I don't have your face.
I try to picture it but it's impossible.
I have your shape.
The shape is like the shape your underwear makes against your legs when you lift up your skirt.
The shape is the dimple in your chin
Your eyes in their most semi-circle grin.
But more than images,
My experience is of your lasting presence,
Like an idea;