Feint

A rotation of sound
around a fountain of you
and a deep, dark, pulsing whisper
haunts me tonight

i’ve bested myself
in a game of empty variables
lost my way
in a hollow embrace
and now
haunted
i’m saving
nothing

and

there’s a ghost of a man
there, just behind me
dodging reflections,
feinting,
but regardless
he’s there
the one
representing
disillusionment
hinting at nothingness
somehow
comforting,
his cold
whisper.