Looking around for pieces of you,
a book, a shirt, a thought you left behind.
I found your fragrance behind the bookcase
(as I dusted).
Your face haunts my mind:
sometimes I swear I feel your weight beside me in bed,
feel you move the covers,
feel you in the lead-heavy air that hangs above me.
You haunt my mind,
but I know that you're a dream:
pieces of a man that used to be.
Pieces stuck in the cobwebs between my ears.