Ghost of Unkissed Kisses

I can always picture this girl from college,

But, she’s not a single girl — she’s an amalgam

of all the girls I loved or wished to love

that I grasped and that slipped through my fingers.

Sometimes blonde, sometimes brunette

Something lingering, an after‑image

whispering out from every song, every film, every book

I try to catch her smile between frames and pages

It’s winter dusk and she stands beside me,

her laughter echoing off brick walls and Greek columns.

Yet I cannot remember

the name she whispers back.