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What I love, the ghost said, is the pure want,

the fire wet and humid, the flesh quaking.

Collapsing. Claw me. Tear me, she said, haunt

my cunt the way I still haunt your fucking

dreams. Thrill me. Kill me — heh, too late for that.

Fist me. Twist me. Fill me. I am rabid,

dripping toxic. You got blue balls? tomcat

blues. Catch me. Stretch me. My cum is acid.

It will eat through your cock. Burn your fingers.

Shake me. Break me. Soak me. Scare me — if you

can. If you can fuck, love. If you can suck

and spew. I am sticky greed. My horrors

will show you. Because you said that you knew.

Dumb boy toy. You told me that ghosts can’t fuck.