This Insatiable Love

Yesterday, I came home to meet your ghost in my living room
Flipping through my books, and sipping my oolong
Odd, because you drink coffee
And because I had only just left you at the Marseille train station
The end of a long day in wounded silence
And whereas your expression had been vengeful
As you kindly packed my luggage into a taxi we refused to share
Your ghost didn’t seem to hold a grudge
He simply took my shoulders, in his tender, sun-kissed hands
And said — «Honey, you look half-dead. Come out with me.»