who they were

you never forget
skin
and the heat
emanating
from those pores,
like heat lamps
on
the coldest day of the year.

they'll wrap you,
warmer,
in a way that only survival
can dictate.

then
everything just seems to happen,
somebody cuts the chord,
they slowly begin to float.

sometimes you'll reach
but it's never enough
to hold.

you reach
with nothing on the ground
but your toes.

they float further,
into the mouth
of the horizon,
until
they are nothing but pinpricks
piercing your eyes
and working their way
into a ventricle in your heart.

then
they float even further,
beyond blood,
until they dissipate
into scattering wisps
of ghosts.