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Lady Ghost

something arrives with a cold, cold breeze and it's someone that you don't need.

By Dean TraylorPublished about a month ago 2 min read
Lady Ghost
Photo by Khashayar Kouchpeydeh on Unsplash

I.

Window slides open,

one clear night.

It slides open,

and my lady ghost appears,

floating in the cold, cold breeze.

II.

I try to sleep,

But sleep no more.

So there I lay

Eyes closed

Like I didn’t know the ghost

came with the cold, cold breeze.

III.

She moves to me

Under the cover of night

She moves to me,

Hands on my shoulder.

IV.

Hot voice

heats the cold, cold breeze.

Whispers reach deep beyond

My guarded skin.

V.

I hear her pant.

I feel her breath.

Whispered words she speaks

I can barely understand.

VI.

But still I stay

Not moving an inch

Not opening my eyes.

VII.

I pretend to sleep

As her gentle touch

Becomes a gentle stroke

On my shoulder

Down my back.

Still I don’t move

Not even for warmth

from the cold, cold breeze

VII.

Chill races through

my body,

my bones.

No, not the cold, cold breeze.

VIII

I feel her body

Pressing against mine.

I smell her sweet fragrance

of rose-petal divine.

And for a moment,

I am lost,

intoxicated by her presence.

IX.

Then comes her embrace.

A tight squeeze

As if she tries

to absorb me into her.

And make us one.

X.

Still, I am.

Like the Sirens,

I ignore.

Temptation strong

But, I’ve been down this road

Many times before.

For my lady ghost

Is not one to adore.

XI.

But, my heart

In that moment

Beats for

My Lady Ghost.

It pleas for approval

While my old wise man-

mind yells, “no!”

XII.

Don't turn

Don't face her

and her blind, infatuated will.

She wants me.

But she’s a ghost to me.

XIII.

So still, I remain,

not giving in

I reject her again,

And make her a ghost,

all over again.

XIV.

And she knows

There’s no power

Over me.

She couldn't envelope me

She couldn’t tempt me.

XV.

Tears on my cheek

As she nears my face.

One last kiss

Still I fight to remain.

XVI.

And then she’s gone.

Window closes

The warmth returns

I stir

And rise.

My lady ghost is gone.

XVII.

But not for long

I fear.

She’ll keep haunting me.

She’ll keep stalking me.

And suddenly,

I can feel the chill

Of the cold, cold breeze.

ProseStream of Consciousnesssurreal poetrylove poems

About the Creator

Dean Traylor

I wrote for college and local newspapers, magazines and the Internet (30 years). I have degree in journalism, masters in special education (and credentials), and certificate in screenwriting. Also, a special ed. teacher (25 years)

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