There are moments when I feel her lips
brush against mine, even though
it’s been years since I we kissed last. A phantom,
a specter, risen from the graves,
unbidden but not unwelcome.
It lingers against my mouth, this memory of a moment
of pleasure, like the soothing after taste of a cold drink
when your throat is dry.
There is a second I almost
that I am alone
in my room,
lost in a memory
that runs away from me like a wild horse.