did it on the sly.
How many times did he see me reach for you?
How many times did your body turn to crows and scatter,
each black dot turning back to look me in the eyes?
The ghost who made love to you knew it wasn't instinct that drove you.
He lived, then died, biding his time.
I was candy in a ribbed paper cup,
dark and bitter, but not dark and bitter enough.
The ghost who finally won you knew it wasn't sweetness you wanted--
not even love.
I am a summer aster,
someone else's favorite bloom;
bone china on the teak wood in a citrus-scented room.
And you, my last, my favorite love?
You have a man, the ghost, the one you chose;
the dust, the light, the moon.
the watercolor of asters is by Olga Sternyk, found on her weheartit.com page.