Scheherazade

Not even a thousand nights and one To dream you into breathing flesh. Each story weighed against a kiss.

As you slip away from me The haunting ghosts depart in silence. My ears attempt to hear once more The listening of your whispered words. My fingers try to touch again The feeling of your skin's warmth.

But even as I fight with all my strength To fix your image in my memory.

It bleeds and pales against the sky.

As though you never were.