Ghosts of our Love

Sometimes, I see the ghosts
passing between the thoughts
like the  spirits of the muse, they lead me
straight to you, sometimes.

Sometimes, however,  they take me around
to the back way along the worn dirt path
where the grasses reach, touching the skin
in soft genuflection of our love.

Sometimes, these specters  lead me through
fields of clover, and Queen Ann's Lace filled
with buzzing so loud it gives you pause
to see where the sound is coming from.  
It is then you see the bees all around,
and simply marvel at their sound.

Sometimes, the ghosts of our love
lead me through evening fields of
crickets chirping to the full moon
as if to ask their lunar goddess
for a last kiss of their love.

Whether under the warm morning sun
where I rest under the shade of your lips,
or the cool moonlit night that caresses
with cascades of the breath of your words,
always am I lead back to you.

Sometimes, I see the ghosts
passing between the thoughts
like the  spirits of the muse, they lead me
straight to you, sometimes.

But in the end,
these ghosts always,
always,
lead me back to you.