GHOSTS AND ALL THEIR HAUNTS
she used to be perfect. so marvelous, so full of potential and potency; she has been bled out, she has been reduced to a common denominator and removed of decoration. she has not been made naked--naked was her perfection; instead, she has been covered up, in clothes that loosely hang off her parts. i recall her confidence, her gait and balance--i see these things like cold far-distanced ghosts when we speak, humming from the shadow of her words. it is utmost saddening how i lost someone i barely got to know. i made the mistake of thinking there was time, it too was a ghost. she has been bled out, she has been taken in--away from where i can reach, far from where i would want to reach--naked was her perfection, naked were we two truths but only promises of ourselves, dreams within dreams. she used to be perfect. someone who knew a truth about herself simultaneously as i knew a truth about me, and the two went hand in hand. a truth that didn't move when the moment said, "go".
so we've been gulfed from one another ever since. she was an empire, a queen, a nebula and from her lips, stars were the promises that burned bright against the solid dark ceiling of shrinking nights. stars were the memories that now evaporate, separated by a yawning universe's stretch. there it was that i lost someone i barely got to know. someone like me, perfect and ready yet not moving, knowing the steps but waiting to be asked for the dance. i recall her voice, her laugh and its weight, where she'd place her eyes when we spoke. she's been covered up, in sheets that bury her, that fall disrespectfully from her parts. and the truths we were, hang there as well, spill clumsily between us as we try to stand you back on your two feet. but you're too weak and i get bored. i too used to be perfect.