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.