Tangible Ghosts

He’s asking today for the tangible ghosts,
The fungible fog, the tradable mist —
He’s wading today through the rippling bog,
Aflame with the thoughts of the lips he once kissed —

But all of his fancies go drifting away,
Like the clouds in his beer when the whiskey pours through:
He’s longing today for more tangible ghosts
Than the ones that still haunt him
When thinking

Of you

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s