Silhouettes

Memories of you still haunt my dreams,
twisting, growing in the darkness
so real I almost feel your touch.

Though you've been dead for many years,
still a child I lay and hide here
frozen, small beneath the covers.

Shadows on my bedroom wall are
paper puppets; silhouettes that
play out scenes of your desire.

Outside, the wind becomes your breath,
echoing, moaning round my room
to speed the beating of my heart.

Every night I lay here waiting
sure that you will come again,
sure that you will come again.