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Wasted Love
September 8, 2015
Tonight, I’m with you,
and God,
I want to believe that
my words are tangible,
floating impossibly above us,
where we are only small impressions
on the cushion of my sentiment. But
when your image begins dissolving slowly at the edges
next to me, and the truth rages from the centre of your body as
a phantom tidal wave,
my lungs sink in the fact that
I can only have the ghost I wish you were.
© Alissa F., Marblehead, MA
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