My dear phantom,

there is fire

where my skin

should be sleeping.

I swallow: there's burning.

I am haunted

tracing the trail

left by lovemaking.

Dollars folded between

breasts: my share.

The bassline

of his heartbeat

reminds me of the ring

on my finger, the sway

of indecision and homicide.

My dear phantom,

the skin remembers

what is missing,

a life amputated,

dreams outlined in chalk.