The Companionship of Seclusion

Her almost black bangs
catch on the tips
of her even darker
eyelashes.
The rest of her hair
runs straight
into gravity's
seductive clutch.
In this merciless chamber
also swims her sharp perfume
-lavender, I think,
but I don't know
fields of flowers
as well as I know her.

I meet her dark gray eyes
for instants
that impress upon me
for all eternity.
Her eyes hold mine
and direct my gaze
through the dirty
double pained windows
of my dimly lit attic.
What she sees
in the world
I am ever-asking.
Wordless replies
breathe cold air
down my neck
and raise goosebumps
along my spine.

She does not feel cold
though her skin
is perpetually
that temperature
to my touch.
How she stands it,
I know not.
Her hush
crazes me
and I must leave her
to be alone.

It is hard to think
in the presence
of her paper white skin.
I feel haunted
by a living ghost-
one that lingers
without revealing
its mission.

Unlike a ghost,
however,
Solitude has no past.
I am her present,
and already
I can guess her future.
This window seat
and backyard swing
are her homes.
She moves into
these barren places
where sometimes I reminisce
until I can't bear
the lonely air
any longer.
Together or apart,
we don't stay long
as either.