Prickly back tendrils
alert me to your presence
at my bedside. I pull the blanket
up over my shoulder like a lover
after sex or kissing me

Have you been kept
long in the afterlife?
What have you siphoned
from dumb girls crouched
over Ouija boards, panting
and wishing for something?

all I am, I will give you.
None of it I want anymore,
and you need all you can
because everyone you know
has died, and your memories
have been buried, dug up,
and transplanted

nowhere near
where you remember.
My body is hot like a chamber
and trembling for the wind
you wisp over my skin
with fingers made of moonlight
and horror so real it makes me
wetter than Heaven and
hotter than

Tonight is long, and loving
you is dark and growing
darker with each inch
the horizon takes over the sky.
If you leave before the sun,
I’ll know there is nothing
Phantastic about

Only something haunting
in the way you show up
like a fog to creep beneath
my blankets with nothing but death
and dirt. I hope the sounds outside
my window keep you up
with fright, so the morning
will turn you into a


© 2019 by Aigner Loren Wilson

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