blood and bone

you haunt my dreams
my waking hours
with a presence more palpable
and rich
than blood or bone
for its singular absence —
an echoed silence in the hall
which lingers still
or coffee mug stained
with lipstick
by the kitchen sink
or a simple remembrance
of what was shared
and what was shed
in those unsaid moments
between us until summer suns
no longer loitered on your skin
like a passionate kiss
or supple touch
soft as a whispered
breath.