A Ghost
A ghost
that pants
and breathes
on my neck
that sends chills
running up my spine
and raises the hairs on my arms
A ghost
whispering
softly in my ear
reminding me of life
after death is a true thing
a spirit without a body not to
be forgotten because it is not seen
A ghost
configuring
in front of me
as a misty curvy wave
a haint to be an image of terror
to some, but not by others who know
and accept it with the joy of a past love
A ghost
cannot give
comfort by touch
because never does
warmth come out of a spirit
from the middle world it inhabits
yet the sight brings memories of passion
arlene sandra bice ©
