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You rip my blouse without evening touching me..

Sweat drips from my body without a single finger laid upon it.

How can I be running down this path in the woods feeling both euphoria and the deepest saddness

I have ever felt, at the same time..

You arch my back without being in the same room with me.

My thoughts of you seem to tide me over until the next time our fingers are puzzle-pieced together

Once again..

You lips must be dry and empty, because they haven’t been placed upon mine in some time now.

What is this love but a clawing in my skin?

I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.

I want it to rip me open like a machete hacking its victim with care and caress.

I want it to take me to a daydream that is inescapable.


In all of the ways that I have tried to fight it, I want it to consume me in a finality and completeness.

You run your hands violently around my throat without even speaking to me.

I won’t stop wanting.

I am stuck in this eternal loop of yearning.

I could speak unlimited words and ways that your lack of want makes me want more.

It causes me to disgust myself so much so that I don’t who is looking back at me in the mirror that

I regularly make it every point to avoid.

For God’s sake…..want me.

Want me or end me. For good.

Ravish me or push me off this cliff.

Because the pulsating within my body has became too much to bare.

Too much to relieve.

You burn my skin with those eyes. They don’t look at me. And when they do,

they burn a hole straight through me.

I’m reaching out for you.

Strip me bare and naked and do what you must.

In an instant, I’ll drop what task I am pretending, and I will rake this kitchen table of each item.

If you would only slam our bodies into it.

You take everything from me without even noticing you took it..

I am swollen and sore, without you even getting up from your chair.

My imagination is drowning in thoughts of places I am not.

A preoccupation of sorts that is destroying me when I snap back to this empty room.

I try to remember what our hands feel like clasp together….

I chain myself to this chair to prevent myself from making the first move again.

I’ve never been so rejected and so loved and so invisible at the same time.

I don’t love me right now.

I don’t hate me right now.

I don’t know me right now.

Do you?

I am not coming down off this ledge until you make me.

Ball up your fist, and punch me right in the gut.

It is the equivalent of what I feel when I slip through these halls on my own.

I just felt your fingers slowly drift down my chest and stomach….

But you are asleep.

You have ghost hands that follow me around..

Sensing my yearning for just a moment of intimacy from just the tips of your fingers,

Just the slight wetness from your lips.

I want to dilate and descend your pupils just by the moan from the very throat that you are choking

the life from.

Claw these clothes right from my body.

They are simply in the way of the condensation that just your hello drinched me in.

I hear the echoes of our voices from long ago roaming these halls.

They are calling out to us to dance carelessly together, not worrying about the troubles that

Await us tomorrow.

Echo back ghost lover.

Scream into me. Widen my thighs with your standoffishness.

Slap me back into this room with you,

Or continue to break my neck with your silence.

Either way, I love.

Bulletproof, I take every stab. Every claw. Every suffocation you create in me.

Ghost lover, I’ll still be here. Dagger on my side.

One thought on “Ghost Lover

  1. Ghost touches and butterfly kisses.

    This silence haunts him as he sits here and dwells upon the past.

    These echoes of memories lived.

    The faint phantom sounds of laughter long lost.

    He can recall the times they spent together in happiness.

    They seem oh so far away now and lost.

    Though these are not unhappy times, but troubled.

    But times come and go and sometimes begin anew.

    As they pass by one another, the currents swirl and churn.

    There is a tension between and a magnetism.

    Both of them want to push away and at the same time, draw near.

    Every pass he makes, he pushes through the tension to steal a touch of her.

    Even when she hardens herself and recoils, he dares to touch her again.

    In her hardness she seems to become brittle.

    So, his touches are as light as possible.

    Days pass and they rarely speak. Only their body language is communicated.

    Her reactions to his ghost touches seems to be expected now,

    Even when they seemed to be unwanted and ignored.

    The tension between them lessens as they pass by one another.

    More days pass and his ghost touches become more frequent, more eager.

    In return, her body becomes more receptive, almost pliable to his touches.

    So, he carefully and bravely places the lightest of kisses upon her cheek,

    As gentle as a butterfly landing upon a flower.

    She is startled but not scared.

    As she sleeps, he places another butterfly kiss upon her forehead, careful not to wake her.

    The days and nights pass this way between them for some time.

    Then one day as he is passing by and places another butterfly kiss upon her cheek,

    Her hand oh so slightly touches his hand and they make eye contact.

    His eyes, dark and piercing, mysterious, peer deep into her tearful eyes.

    His look softens and hers appear hopeful.

    Fearfully, carefully, he slowly lowers his mouth to hers and places a butterfly kiss upon her lips.

    She returns one of her own.

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