curls

I climbed back into bed, still warm from your body, and inhaled the ghost you left lying on the pillow, the traces of drunkenness, the kiss-till-our-lips-went-numb, the strands tied around fingertips, the parts of you lingering on lips. My lungs swelled with anxiety as my throat reached for water, oblivious to the tattered thoughts and nearly spoken words resting heavily behind my tongue. I sank into your memory, stitched onto eyelids, shaded the room with rosy ignorance and pulled the curls of your smoke into my chest.