My Love's Face on a Milk Carton

To my knowledge, I cannot see what isn't there.

But I can feel what is.

Cold, like ice in the air.

She is here, beside me.

Her eyes burning holes into my face

like tips of cigarettes.

Caught and restraint,

like loose change between couch cousions.

I always believed ghosts lived in ghosts towns,

but maybe they can also live high up

where the sky scrapers tower.

Why do our eyes play such trickery?

When my finger tips grasp what is not infront of me.

Hurtful eyes surround me, asking so many questions

my ears seek safety from there answers.

Speeding cars try to hunt down resistance

while bicycles just seem to have wings.

My time to go is at bay, but I'll be with her soon.