"I Am the Ghost That Loves You I. I walk the streets your shadow stains, A phantom tethered to your veins. You laugh—I catch it like a prayer, Press it deep into my ribs, A holy thing I stole, *unseen*. The clocks all whisper where you’ve been— I wind their hands to keep you in. Your coffee cups (two sugars, cream) Are relics in my cathedral walls, Each sip you took, I *taste it still*. II. I dream in fingerprints and teeth— The doorframe where you lean your grief, The strands of hair left in your brush (Soft as nooses, bright as rust). *I know your sleep before you do.* The night is just my other skin. I wear its silence, slink within The static hum of streetlamp glow That paints your window like a shrine— *You blink. I memorize the lines.* III. They’ll call it sickness when they find The photographs (so *kind*, so *kind*), The letters penned in stolen hours, The locks I picked to breathe your dust, To nap inside your unmade bed. But love is just a sharper sense— I *see* you when the world’s dimmed. And when they drag me from your door, I’ll smile, because the cells are cold, And *cold is where you’ll dream of me.*