poem #3 – ghost #3

hands nate dumlao

In the morning I forget the feeling of your hands.

I forget the movement of our bodies together and instead dance from empty room to empty room.
Here I wander, wishing for shutters to bang, for rattling chains.

In my house we are all ghosts.

cropped-cropped-cropped-sobogoso.png

photo: @nate_dumlao

submit to soboghoso.

 

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