The Ghosts

 I find you in my hunger now
and in the memories of ghosts
that haunt me in the winter night
that long to hang from any bone

I fill my veins up with the kind
of want most keep inside their heads
and tinfoil in my pockets,
silver souvenirs of what we had.

And even though I’ve leaned to walk
inside their light and with their step
It’s always you I’m running to
it’s always you, calling me back.