The Phantom of You

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A poem inspired by a particularly bad breakup.

The fantasy of you haunts me

like flowers from a

phantom

in my looking glass.

 

I see the reflection of who we once were,

sweet and kind,

holding each other close,

fingers traipsing along naked flesh

leaving trails of desire

in the form of

goosebumps

and shivers of ecstasy.

 

I see the way you held onto me,

so tightly,

afraid to lose me

to some unknown truth

you could not tell.

You would squeeze me,

pull me into your soul,

our bodies becoming one

as you consumed me in your embrace.

 

I see the smile on my face

when you kissed me

atop my head

and told me I smelled of coconut,

tropical and alive,

the same way

you said

I made you feel.

 

I see the way you held my hand

and the way you hungered for me.

 

I see the way you kissed the tips

of my fingers,

gently brushing them

against your lips,

very unlike the

hungry way in which you

bit and sucked

at my breast.

 

I see the need in your eyes

contorting your face

with a focus of purpose

I once confused for passion.

Your eyes aglow with

the red fire

of lust

as your once gentle touches

become clawing, bruising,

mauling gropes

marking my tender flesh.

 

I see the death of what we had

oozing, bleeding

from my womb

as you walk away

without a single

glance back

in my direction

to see if I am

alright.

 

And yet this phantom of you

stares back at me

hauntingly

from my looking glass,

hand outstretched

holding flowers

and an apology,

whispering of love

and things long dead

and gone.

 

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