When you go, I die
just a little bit,
but, with passing time,
more and more.

Food, music, friends
all lose meaning.
In your absence,
all else seems insubstantial.
I lose perspective.

I lose weight.
I become not half the man I used to be,
shadows falling right through me
as, invisibly,
I stalk our former haunts.
I whisper, not speak.
I float, not tread.
I stride unseen, as no one about
finds any use for me.

All I want
is for you to use me
but you are gone
like every significant part of me.
I am a ghost
waiting for you
to rejuvenate me.