Ghosts

Ghosts 

My favorite
part of the morning—
settling in
for a day of work,
finally getting a chance
to put a little food
in my stomach,
my lips get greasy
with soppressata & butter;
I wipe them clean,
my tissue shines
in pink & red hues,
residue from kissing you.


I’m loathe to throw
it away, rather
I tuck it in my sleeve,
because when I have
to be without you,
at least I can be
comforted by the ghosts
of our kisses.