Ghost Lover

I left it all up to interpretation

Those intangibles, those ripe fruits

Destined to remain unpeeled.

For a man of riddles

You have a way of overlooking

Even the most obnoxious clues.

 

Confession dulls the heart

I prefer to decay

In the open sunlight

Feeling every moment

Stewing and simmering

The heat scorching my surfaces

So that only the essence persists.

 

This is my love

There is no need

For an object or an objective

Life provides an ample palate

And art is always the most vivid

When it incises truth.

 

That I could drink you

And quench my thirst

As one gleans invisibles

From the rustling

Of unoccupied sheets.

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