Her Final Seven Seconds

You're a dream

I've touched your skin but you aren't real
My hands betrayed by what they want and what they feel
And even then my grip
Is slowly loosening

Your speech 
Like conversation repeated but delayed by weeks
Whispered secrets I couldn't keep
Or remember

A taste of faint familiarity
Memories of 
You
Footsteps fading gradually
As you slink back to shelter, waiting
Among the stories of my sleep.

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