How strange!
I was thinking of you
while I shaved my potato in the shower,
blindly, eyes closed,
my face a military terrain,
and suddenly the razor
swerved and I nearly
gave myself a brow piercing.
I refused to open my eyes
to see the blood
you drew from me.
We had only one conversation
about the joy of pillbugs,
the slightest of small talk
in an elevator going down
a skinny minnie building to earth
where you probably live
since you stepped off there.
You will never occur
again in this lifetime.
Ghosts
are real.