The Temple of Your Absence


I am the color of throbbing constellations,
pulsars in the dark.
Know me as the sailboat made of seagulls
singing the songs of magnolias,
the glint of sun on knife edge,
I am the place
where your voice
meets your dreams.

I am remembrance
colored outside the lines
using water paints
thinned with tears.

If the ocean of you
had a door
I would shipwreck
against it.

Banishment of the dark
is too slow to ease my pain.
The bright takes forever
to be our blanket.

I tour the temple of your absence
taking in the echoes,
the cobblestones beneath my feet
the only pillow for my tears.

The challenge that fantasies of you
impose upon my melancholy,
are gifting dreams of foreign shores
and foreplay in your kisses.

Sometimes I forget
that the dead
read my words.

©2015 Christopher Reilley
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