drinking your sorrow

I can taste the ash on your lips
remnants of that fatal fire
you stand alone now –
I can hear your heartache
and I hurt to but
maybe now you will see me?

I know it is probably wrong
and I should be ashamed but
how can I? I have waited
behind the smoke
and I long for closeness
just as much
perhaps more

but ghosts don't get chances
and even if there was one—
ever so slim-–
have I the courage to take it?
better to die from a quick, wrenching stab
or to be lost forever
drowning in your eyes?

sorrow is not bitter
it is a sweet taste
however melancholy
and it flows over your skin in waves
I wish I could help,
kiss your tears to darkness
but I can only wait
and watch
and send butterflies to dance
in your glow.