The Phantom Lover of My Dreams

I hear the timbre of his voice
still whispering my name in the early eve of the morn
turning beneath cool sheets to where he should be
the phantom lover of my dreams.

Tear-filled eyes flutter beneath closed lids
afraid to open and be faced with the truth
slipping out and down flushed cheek that remembers
the phantom lover of my dreams.

The feel of his skin and warmth of his arms
comforting rise and fall of his massive chest
brush and claim of his leg over mine
these are the things I remember ...

Fingers caress the place that was his
beside me in the rise of the dawn
desperate whisper calling him home ...

Was he real ...
or just the phantom lover of my dreams?