KISSING GHOSTS

In the Night I see her, an angel of stone
and feather casting a pale illumination
over my grave, upon her cheek tears linger
a vulnerable stain, how I wish I could kiss
them away and taste their poetry calligraphing
a wish, just one absent-minded wish to be
loved, over her impenetrable nude she wears
a weave of spiderwebs, I see the nightmares
that hide in their gossamer folds, beckoning
the Dark's many collectibles into her shade,
but her soul is wet with secrets, her eyes
are hollowed out by deja vus, her lips bleed
from being too tightly sewn shut, but oh how
I want to love her quietly-silent and spectral
-how my groin aches to love her from where
I lay in my grave's restless rut, I want to
kiss those lips, tasting of old ink and pale
virtue feraled by deceit-but I'm tonguing
the decay of a dream for Life cannot heat what
Death has chilled, I see this angel of stone
and feather pass by my grave again, casting
a last glance at the gargoyle standing sentinel
at the gate...close-mouthed I scream to the
reaper at my fate as she leaves me to my morbid
desires...oh how I want to caress her breakable
paper skin until she is as naked as my corpse,
I would show her what it was like to be loved
beyond the grave, the fun to be had from
bedding the dead and kissing ghosts...

January 12-13, 2012
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