Dear, Your Ghost
Caressing; A dark, chilly wind
down my spine. Images and woes;
Depressing; my deathly throes.
In this spin, an icy grip;
smell of pine.
Creaking; a deep, heavy croak
reaches my ear. Whispers and eyes;
Seeking; a memory dies.
A breath choked, through the mist;
apparent pier.
Approaching; damp, soggy wood
under my feet. Elbows and knees;
Encroaching; thoughts of need.
As I stood, a reaching myth;
we never meet.
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