Ghosts haunt my dreams
You lie quiet in the stoned grave
I hope you meant it when your said, “Go forward.”
I have loved and roamed again
You met me in that wet and windy town
I remember those first nights
that you no longer share
They say old age is time for memory
but memory is not an honest broker
rather one that plays the game
as if it were a pot of prizes
fished from time to time
with random results
I think you would approve my choice
whose touch awoke
even that is long ago
He and I
faithful in old age
and gentle as you would have me be
and that you gave me permission
comforts me
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