Gone

Away from my sight and my hearing,

Gone from my ability to smell

Save the familiar scent in her

     things left behind.

Gone from my touch,

Except for the feel of her hair

      in my dreams.

Smooth, silky hair that I slide fingers through,

Again and again, fearful of waking.

When did I first know this sense in dreams?

Before?

I don’t remember.

Now is all I know.

It consumes me, leaves me empty.

Yet, yet I still feel.

Perhaps a sense unknown.

Gone, but not gone.