He's my Babylon

I promised myself I would be okay. Alright, doing just fine. walked those dusty floors in confidence that ghosts do not show themselves on rainy Friday nights. But, there you were, spinning your feet through the dirt of my memories. Your voice, oh God, your voice. I can still recall the texture of it, familiar like morning coffee or summer thunder. it calls me awake from heavy feet. I swore I would be okay, fine in fact but I'm not. Somehow i as wonderful wishing, with a soaring smile, that the gold in my hair would trap you once again.