the ghost of fireflies
froth from the fractured minds
of the thistles
the burning breeze
flakes the fields
I won’t speak to you again
I will still sing to you
songs white as whispers
same frequency as ghosts
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
the ones
who hollow you out
leave a cave
for another
to place
a candle in
my favourite bit
when you appeared
around the bend
at the end of my street
come to meet me
the ghost of gold
on an autumn night
stitched together
with neon thread
your black dress
splashed by the sirens
from the cries of the city
your red heels
sparked the sealskin
of the pavement
drains choked with fire
lost
what I’ve not even
found
the hinges of your heart
sprinkles rust like pollen
as the dark wind of your blood
squeezes through its doors
left ajar
sunlight and midnight
lines the inside
of our chests
glass the gatekeeper
asks the sky
if they’re on the list
the susurrus
of your lost
long song
the smoke
of my soul
just before the kiss
push me back into the world
like ghosts do
when the living get too close
the scent of skin
too much
they push away
because they long too much
for what they’ve lost
they want you too stay
in the world
you because
you don’t want to hold
what will be lost
we breathe in
the dark of each other
curtains need the breeze
to touch the room
a little more
the cry of church bells
across the city
serpents of scent
wrapped round your wrists