Occipital Fracture

Your ghost has been banging my head against
the cracked and faded headboard
with the memories of your fingers
glued to my hair hard enough
to dismember them
and dislodge the follicles of my mind
into the pillows and sex-sweat sheets

My limbs remember the curves of your skin
draped liquidly over you in lights-off romances
banished in the panic attack lights-on nights
I’ve reverted to
my hands clutching bone-ily at the blue under-stuffed teddy
that occupies more of my bedspace than my subconscious wanderings

I dream of a finger-flesh entwined land
with winding garden paths guarded by pretty blondes
that always poke forks into your wandering eyes
leaving them gloriously bloodshot
for it’s only in my sleep that my lips flutter against
the butterfly wings of your stone-shuttered eyes

Your hands become my hands
piano key fingers that play my body like a Mozart symphony
and I writhe in liquid music
feeling your imaginary breath on my shiver-rippled skin
before I howl the memory of remembrance
and the bass of now comes unwanted
into my mind like a strobe light cascade after an ecstasy overdose
a migraine on the headboard
more poignant than the halo I pawned
to slip inside your ephemeral skin
that always promised to leave before daylight
and finally did

© Indie Adams 2013