Ghosting

A poem about breakups

Cam

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Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

I am dreaming of places that breathe no more:
a cemetary of a dying city, and of you.

How is that one can know everything of a person
and then nothing of them at all?

Sometimes at night I still feel your hands
ghosting on my skin, exorcising parts of my heart
I never knew were so essential -

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