This is a rather haunting piece, inspired (I think) by my recent watching of Outlander.
I wish for a spectre, something
to remind me of you and your deadly ways.
I have your grave dirt in my hair, the Polaroids
of you that turned out black, your cracked tooth
I wear as a talisman.
I desire more,
your tattered burial shroud,
your spider-webbed thoughts,
the cross you refused to wear
because it clashed with your hell-fire flesh.
Finally, your shade comes,
spreading cold like a disease,
your hands open to mine.
We touch, and I realize my mistake.
You smile as I turn to mist,
and in this gray land, I search for you,
growing accustomed to not breathing,
easing into the idea I may never see you again.