Sarah Ramsey
The phantom of your hand holds mine at walks,
Especially as the sun is setting,
I hear the faintest whisper of our talks,
My head turns at the risk of forgetting.
The brown of the doe’s eyes looking at me,
Remind me of the halls I would lose myself
in when you stared, as my soul to yours plead
to stay where you are, so my heart could swell,
until it bursts from being full of you.
But like the doe shrouded deep in the green,
I had to hide myself from your presence,
From afar I watched your being turn obscene,
And drive me to the ghost of your essence.