The Phantom Limb
Each night I call your name again,
The floorboard sighs beneath my feet,
A whispered breath, a soft refrain,
Where absence and the shadows meet.
Your laughter melts like molten streams,
A warmth that fills this cavern deep,
Where memories dissolve to dreams—
And silence lays its quiet keep.
In sunlight's weave, the dust suspended,
Still particles that pause then fall,
Their fleeting dance, untethered, ended—
A fleeting glimpse, a ghostly call.
Your steady hand calms trembling glass,
A tether when the storm descends,
In faltering beats that come to pass,
You linger, pulse that never ends.
But love leaves frost like fragile lace,
Etched deep where once your fingers pressed,
A trace of you I still embrace,
A phantom's touch that haunts my chest.
I trace the fractures on the pane,
Where winter's breath has left its mark,
Each crack a story wrought in pain,
A silent echo in the dark.
Your kiss ignites a restless fire,
A compass spinning far and wide,
I gather fragments, lost desire,
And seek the self I must abide.
In morning's steam, your shadow bends,
Along the walls that hold our past,
Where whispered moments never end—
Your name dissolves, a breath that lasts.
You are the phantom limb I know,
A part that aches beneath my skin,
An absent pulse that beats below—
The ghost of what has never been.
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