SPECTRE

There are days when
I fall asleep with songs of love
in my ears
and your spectre in my arms.
There is a memory
where your lips used to be.

There is an ache
that swells only sparingly.
There are ghosts
where your feet used to walk
And an imagined rustle
where you used to breathe.

You are gone
but your ethos
is still with me.