ghosted

The walls of my room are swollen with your silence,
thick and smothering.
I once again mistook somebody’s lost, hapless wandering
for freedom;
your aimless tread for a path being forged.
Drunk with possibilities, I followed you singing
until your voice, which promised and scoffed at me in the same breath,
ended with a squeak in the night.
Inebriated and naked every time I saw you,
I wonder what pieces you took
(my words, my mouth, my chest, my drunken singing?)
and when I would realize they were in your hands,
long gone.