chasing ghosts around this empty room, I am
painting voices on my skin in red and gold
drawing mouths I have never met
pressing my lips to them
pressing my knuckles
into my own knees, tracing
the profile of my own hips with my fingertips
until my hands feel numb, like someone else's
decorating the walls with echoes
of songs not yet written for me
fleshing out phantoms into warm breath
imagining what shades of violet I might turn
under the weight of some melodic love
with my eyes closed I am exquisite
and I am not alone
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