, , , , ,

Is that where the fear lies? When the dead girl
turns all the way around and we behold …

one more sad, misshaped face — one more swirl
of dark, untidy hair — blue skin stone cold —
X of a broken neck — empty drowned eyes.

You know that party trick; it’s all you hear
about. I wouldn’t call it total “lies,”
but there has to be more. A ghost unclear
on the concept just gets laughed at. Darling,

come live with me. We’ll figure something out.
There’s more to death than clammy skin, creaking
floors and causing the irksome to freak-out.

Smile, my honey dear, while, I kiss away
your tears … drops of blood, of dust, drops of gray.