I remember somehow
a mist or a fog,
a thought of an image,
barely tangible.
I would reach out and through it;
ectoplasm, and it was you.
Then a form like a shadow,
or a silhouette,
you became more clear,
closer in.
Now I see you before me
as a strong wind
fills a shirt on a clothesline,
inhabiting the form,
animation of a lover.
I put you on
and feel the brushing
against my skin,
the wind in my ear,
each button through each hole,
a perfect fit.
I dance in your embrace
like a ghost in the night,
only to be a shadow of the day.
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