I am your ghost, destined to remain;
slaved to your presence, and drawn by your name.

Mine is the spirit your heart holds in thrall;
yearning to love you and giving it all.

I am the dreams you call in the night;
the ones that you love, the ones you deny.

Not formed of ether but true flesh and bone;
a man who wants you; without you, alone.

Oh, dreamlover, you do haunt me well;
the distance between, it’s own kind of hell.

You live my dreams, you walk in my night;
you sleep in my bed, where I hold you tight.

You are my ghost, though soon not to be;
In a matter of days, you’re coming to me..

Can this be love? These things that we feel?
Oh, can this be love? And can this be real?

Our spirits speak words not quite aloud;
but our hearts will know, with never a doubt.

Bob Forsythe