
3 AM
I turn
Reaching,
Searching,
Stretching,
Grasping
For you,
A ghost limb, removed,
Amputated.
Yet,
The yearning,
The craving for
The softness of your skin,
The warmth and smell of you
Remains
An ache,
An itch,
A host of phantom feeling
Deep within the ghost limb
In the center of my chest.