Slowly, Slowly

there was something about loving you
that felt endless
and imaginary
all at once

each morning I would wake
pulling dreams of you with me
out the front door, for company
shoes laced, my soles the colour of cumulus
I would move through the city
gliding on the thought of you
but slowly, slowly
forgetting the cyan of your eyes
the red timbre of your smile when you’d hold
my name in your mouth
the scuff of your five o’clock shadow on my neck
as we waited out our last hours

you were such true fiction
you are such a consuming ghost.

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