‘Champagne With Ghosts’

I arrive, already in a suit and a tie.

Unsure of how this glass made its way into my hand.

And you say—

“There you are!”

“Now please don’t embarrass me.”

“You know, that thing you do. Your body is here, but everything else disappears.”

But it’s almost time.

I can feel the leaving arrive.

And the reason why.

I’ve become tormented by the past,

haunted by the future—

and in the present, I’m nothing more than an illusive fog,

oscillating between the three.

Never bound.

Forever unmoored.

When I’m gone, you weep.

But don’t weep for me.

I’ve been fragmented by choice—

or indecision, both alike.

But instead of telling you, I say,

“Cheers,”

and clink glasses with nothing but ghosts.

Finish the drink.

In the moment, it helps.

Then I see you see me become a mist of myself,

and then my eyes go pale with the moon.

But don’t weep for me, darling.

We’ll rendezvous soon.