I am that breath of wind at the back of your neck,
only when you turn I'm not there
I am that knock at the door that gets you out of bed,
only when you come I'm not there
I am that envelope addressed to you in red ink,
only when you opened it, it was empty
You may think that you are imagining me
the specter that haunts your memory, unlovely unknown...
And you may wish that it would fade in time
leave you intact without unnatural desire...
So put down the paper, the cap on the pen,
put out the light and try to rest,
I'll be here waiting on your doorstep...
I'll be at the window as you sleep,
a deeper shade in the dark under the trees,
the ache that leaves you shaking...
I'll be waiting for your weakened will,
when your hands shake and you need a thrill,
as if you never left me...
