Ode to a Dis-eased Spirit

I remember you, always
beloved geisteskrank
holding your face in my hands,
my opal eyed beauty,
your lips to kiss, cool and soft as night

but how often i would find you
brooding and preening
or flouncing off into shadows
or pouting in darkness
like the petulant dead

and years that pass into memory -
now I drink flat tea from chipped cups
with absent guests
that leave red lined calling cards
etched on my pale skin

here among the living
as you are, but are not and will never be
one step between you have always been
and I the medium, poor at my trade
can never again call you to rise