Spectre

Feeling a little bit gothic tonight...


24 July 2021


Spectre


Over bracken, brush, and mangled moor

your silken essence calls.

Past dusty hearth and deadlocked door

faded prints on tattered walls

your tempered timbre falls.


My heart, once held so close to yours,

hearkens to that trill.

Along the ceiling and the floors

abandoned chair to windowsill

each angle do you fill.


Like fingered smoke you slink and climb

back of calf and round behind

counting bones on up my spine

to nape and earlobe soft and fine

then take me up and make you mine


Sweet spectre of your love.





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