Haunt me,
my eaves,
my cellar,
my bed.
Rattle your thin golden chain.
Whisper in the shower,
you know the blood
from the walls.
Be, in your grace,
my phantom anatomy,
a ghost envelope
in my hand.
Watch me.
Be the shadow riding my chest
holding me calm
and still.
And still.
I will tend your grave
but never fill it.
I will lay flowers by your name
so that under my tongue
the taste of sweet violets.
You,
who made a candlestick
rise and float across the room.
You,
unseen fingers
haunting my hair.
In the dead yard of our silence
the stone will only
hold one date.
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