The phantom presses coolly
Against my body.
Not warm.
Not solid.

There is comfort
In the company of the ghost.
Yet when I reach,
My grasp falls into emptiness.

I long for form.
I dream of substance.
But I am left with a doppelganger,
And an ache in my heart.

Why does the spirit
Taunt me? This mirage seems so real.
But the oasis is dry
And my thirst cannot be quenched.

I am haunted by
this apparition.
Glimpses are my consolation,
my lost Eurydice.

But the image remains.
I stared too strongly into
The light and now when I
Close my eyes, I only see the sun.