I Am a Cider Drinker

The closer I am to your faded hand
The cold inch of air that threatens my bed
Where you used to stand
The ghost at my arm
The kiss on my neck
So strange this house that I'm in
It's not what I meant by those things I said
The frost on the glass
The wheels on the road
The soft white machine
That holds you between
The coming and going
The closer I am, the closer I get
The further you drift from this place
While I cling to your face in my head
The closer I am to your threaded hand
The cold slice of air that holds by my bed
Where you used to stand
The closer I am