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“honey, I know something about
talking with ghosts.”

– Yusef Komunyakaa

My bed can always
accommodate one

more; this ain’t a threat
or bet, it’s a damn

promise. Like all
the stone-cold dead

fortune smiles on
a phantasmic orgy.

A gram of sin that
you can snort

down; even ghosts
can have sticky

fingers. Slack-jaw
we blame love

each time things go
wrong. I have

the host’s job of
not placing blame.

Those who slut-
shame have their

own private hell
waiting. My prayer

bed is vast, even
you’re welcome.

You’ve come from
such a far distance,

lay your grave-rot
body down, I’ll bathe

your feet with my hair.
I’ll lick you back to life.

I’ll kiss your glum
face and wash

away the dried
cum and snot.

][][

My bed can always accommodate one
more; this ain’t a threat or bet, it’s a damn

promise. Like all the stone-cold dead fortune
smiles on a phantasmic orgy. A gram

of sin that you can snort down; even ghosts
can have sticky fingers. Slack-jaw we blame

love each time things go wrong. I have the host’s
job of not placing blame. Those who slut-shame

have their own private hell waiting. My prayer
bed is vast, even you’re welcome. You’ve come

from such a far distance, lay your grave-rot
body down, I’ll bathe your feet with my hair.

I’ll lick you back to life. I’ll kiss your glum
face and wash away the dried cum and snot.