**content warning, CSA**

who are you?

that's not for me to know

I could never remember

your face, your voice

or your touch

nor the words you'd use

when happy, sad

or quietly ambivalent

it's not for me to know

your favourite colour

your special song

or your chosen film

if you prefer beer

wine, or whiskey

with just one ice cube

enough to cool the liquid

but not dilute the taste

when I was younger

I would dream of you

searching for my likeness

in every man I met

I would dream you were famous

an actor, a poet, a creative

someone to rescue me

from her and from myself

but I am older now

and though I don't remember

your face or your voice

I do recall your touch

creeping where it should not

and that nauseating feeling

I've held in my stomach

for as long as I have lived

since I stopped searching

I've come to realise

while chasing your ghost

I became one myself

a poltergeist, trapped

betwixt fear of living

and fear of dying

all because

I remember your touch