It's queer falling in love with a specter of a woman.
Like an angel, she'll appear over my bed with gifts of comfort.
But like a demon, she'll leave you alone and empty in the dark.
Her beauty trails behind her, as her brilliance precedes her path;
However, you can't always tell when she's coming and going.
Leaving abruptly as she came, I would swear my friend's imaginary,
But if it weren't for the glass she knocked over on the way out
There would be no evidence she was ever at my side.

I guess that spirit grew restless; time for some exercise.