Ghost At A Funeral 

I found you there by the whispering pine. Your heart was decaying like a fruit left lifeless on the ground. I wished I could fix you. Touch you. Make everything perfect and as bold as the color red. But I was as imperfect as the color yellow. Either to bright or the strong sense that you were eating mustard. 

I came closer causing the hair on your arms to spike up. From the chill of my remembrance. I leaned in to give your lips a kiss but you swatted me away as if I was a disruptive fly. I can’t help but wonder how you would have reacted if you knew it was me. Haunting you like an old church built over burial grounds.

I never looked good in white but black always gave you the look of a 1950’s rebel. Seductive and reviving. If only I could rewind time. Your tears would go back to their ducts and I would be here with you. Dancing in the morning sun and slurring into a drunken escape by nightfall, caused by firelight. 

But my embers have burned dry and your ashes no longer know where to land. 

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