the ghosts
the ghosts
the ghosts

they stopped haunting you;
they started drinking from
slender-necked bottles of
purple velvet regrets;
they go trailing their
strings ((with all manner
of things attached)).

& the arch of some feline's back might not ever know the pleasure
of the weight of your palm, of the span of your hands
easing and tensing over the frets
& the fretting & the fray.

oh, what have i wondered?
where have i strayed?