My ghosts are moths drawn to the flame of a light
My ghosts are delicate butterflies (cold-blooded warm wings)
They’re never distant or lost like false engagement rings meant to deceive (they’re rings on trees) and green and green and green
My ghosts capture the muse and all forms of melody (never malady)
My ghosts are captured in worn photographs and stern voices known to soften in a mother’s voice
They’re in Cupid’s scalding and in the birth of pleasure (meant only for me to conceive)
My ghosts are written in shoes I constantly retire in myths of desire
I conspire
My ghosts are held in my lonely loving lovingly love
and they’ve got nothing to prove
About the Creator
Ilyssa Goldsmith
Ilyssa Goldsmith graduated from Arizona State University with a B.S. in communication. She enjoys writing poetry, which sounds out the space where the muse, myth, and female desire reside. Goodbye (Hello) is her first poetry collection.
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