Birthday Ghost

I celebrate your birthday today on our bed,
my hands roving the slants of my thighs
you once worked through. It’s warm

outside, and your ghost surrounds me
like a veil. In my haze, you rise again,
dead eyes roving my skin like spilled
sheets of milk. You are the very night

air licking the pads of my feet, my calves,
in desperate little loops. I can smell you
on the night, your desire blooming for me
like a moonflower in the black. You blink

into the room, palming for my hair. Together,
we drag me through what we lost,
what we once knew. And afterwards,
I tell you about all you’ve missed.

I tell you the sun still sets over a senseless
shade of blue, the birds still strangle me
awake every morning, and your name
is everywhere the wind touches.