Waiting here, without you still,
caught in a merciless ‘until’,
tangled between the now and then
when you’ll be drawn to me again,
when your breath will stir and light
this stale still air and vacant night.
I haunt this house a listless wraith,
cling to a threadbare strand of faith
that I’ll be the habit you crave most
and thus made a woman, not a ghost.
No dimmer deferral could there be
than the wait until you thirst for me.

The photo is neither by nor of me, just something found through google image.