The Ghost of Blue Eyes

 

The Ghost of Blue Eyes
Your blue eyes haunt me like the sea haunts the shipwreck—
not with chains, not with cries,
but with their endless, liquid silence,
two deep wells of sky fallen into the earth of my nights.They appear when I close my own eyes,
not as memory, but as presence:
cool, unblinking, staring through the dark
like lanterns left burning in an empty house.
I walk the rooms of my body
and find them waiting in every corner—
in the pulse at my throat,
in the hollow of my palm,
in the salt taste that rises unbidden to my tongue.You are gone, yet your gaze remains,
a blue tide that never ebbs,
washing over the broken hull of my days.
I reach for bread and feel your eyes on my fingers;
I drink water and it is your blue that slides down my throat,
cold, clear, impossible to swallow away.At dawn they dissolve into the first light,
but only to gather again at dusk—
stronger, closer,
two stars that refuse to set,
two wounds that refuse to scar.
They ask nothing, demand nothing,
only look—
and in that looking I am undone,
stripped to the bone,
loved by what cannot touch me,
haunted by what will not leave.Blue of forgotten oceans,
blue of the vein that carries what I cannot say,
blue that enters me like root seeking dark soil—
you are the ghost I carry inside my chest,
the only ghost that warms instead of chills,
the only absence that fills me completely.I love you still,
even as specter,
even as echo,
even as this relentless blue
that will not let me sleep
without first drowning me
in the deep, quiet sea
of your gaze.