Ghost hunger

ghost wolf-christian-leithaeuser

 

You flinch unknowingly as I pass
which makes me want to linger
chilling you
the pleasure swells with your disquiet
with distress
my hunger briefly slaked
any presentiment a royalty, a confection
Trail gelid finger ribbons across your cheek
gifting you a moment of clarity
as your eyes do not, at this moment, deceive you
then disperse
as I replete in this moment
gain a moment of clarity also
comprehension
of a long distant swan song
yet the appetite returns
stronger
cold-hot
and with it oblivion
and I drift
returning once more to the hunt
*wolf-christian-leithaeuser

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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