Untitled

By day I amble through
the tomb of
dead dreams,
running my hands idly over
old whispers
frozen in cold stone.

And in the evenings
I sit in my darkening drawing room,
waiting for the ghosts
to return the courtesy.

Tonight
it is your turn to walk in with the
moonlit fog,
the damp earth still clinging
to your jasmine-scented body.
Your smooth brow is at peace,
the way it was when I buried you
deep
into eternal memory.

You stand shyly by the door,
shimmering through the moonlight
and my tears.
We exchange sad smiles.
We know this is how we were destined to meet,
over and over again,
every day
and every evening,
for all time to come.