she is haunting
he is afraid to close his eyes
because she lurks in the would be heaven behind his eyelids
a ghost of the woman
he thinks he could've loved
in another life
[but she's just a ghost, fading, fading, faded]
..
she was fire and brimstone
hair to match a temper
cream skin with the most brilliant eyes
eyes of emeralds,
of fields,
of jealousy
[but not of love]
..
sometimes he can feel her
lingering in his skin,
in his bones
something soaking up
and he swears he can smell her perfume
but he hasn't since he was fifteen
prompts
green [number one] from the poetry boot camp