Cloud of Ghosts
The air was thick with ghosts, ghosts from Greece, ghosts from Rome, and modern ghosts from home.
There were ghosts of tradition, ghosts of faith. Illuminated were many ghosts but no wraiths.
Her plumped lips were beckoning all and we tried to admit nothing, not the ghosts, not her, nor I.
None of us were living, except the ghosts, and none were willing to die.
My heart pounded like a fist on Fallen's door. The lock was secured by spirit lore, which commanded in the beginning and will forevermore.
These ghosts are dreadful things needing to be put to rest before we could be put to bed. I went to the test of cutting ties and severing mores head.
I continued placing my mouth to her ear and continued to plead with the ghosts, "disappear". The more perspicacious I appear the more suspicious and less sincere.
I longed for her velvet kiss as red and soft as the dead's roses.
So I thought and thought and tried to think as only the poet supposes.
I spoke of how the rose open to the rise of the sun so that she might warm to dry her petals and foliole from the dawn's breath and dew.
She laughed, bit her lip, reminded me of the thorns and looked to find adieu. From her heaving breast I knew she was untrue.
I begged her stay with an easier tone. The ghosts judging me with a heavier groan.
These damn ghosts are dreadful things needing to be put to rest before we could be put to bed! I went to the task of cutting ties and severing mores head!
We talked on. She spoke in a coded tongue of a wedding by the sea. I just laughed but then we did agree that things are better when presented on one knee.
Billowing leaves fell from the trees and flew, as they went from life to death they did fly.
The minutes and hours were like years and I thought surely from natures quest I would die.
We invited spirits to drink and as if a serum the effects of the ghosts on the affect did shrink.
We exposed the tapestry
Sewn with natures thread.
Groans and sighs filled the night from the living not the dead.
Time ran youthful as we played in the unmade bed
Watch your love decay like the carrion of amative prey.
Vultures tearing the flesh from the bones of dreams.
Your daughters and sons, from isles, you betray.
Setting love to sail on a painted ship on a painted ocean,
washing away the daze from love's lotion.
The only true marriage is between the wind and the rain.
Even then, the wind does win
withstanding the needles and the pain.