Echoes Of You

Your ghost hides in the corners of our wrinkled sheets,
reaching out transparent hands to grasp at my foolishness.

I've never enjoyed swimming naked in guilt's sea;
it leaves me dripping remorse.
It appears death's formidable grip can trump a full hand
of indifference every time.

The mundane, repetitious days of our existence
held me in perspective as one
too ambivalent to shake his disembodied shoulders.

The scent of your demise, to me, seemed innocuous—
fleeting and unable to bloom.

But flowers, I've discovered, are fragile things
that, in a short period of time,
will die from the slightest chill.

And I—unbelievably—
immersed in my neglectful, narrow corner—
unable to sympathize or relate to simple needs—
never noticed at all—
your petals—
falling one by one.