your ghost I implore.

I don’t want any trouble

still you give me double

alone in this bubble

which I can’t ignore.

The trail is subtle

some bread crumbs and rubble

your sinister cuddle

remembering more.

Traumatically speaking

I guess that we’re even

transfixed in this feeling

of which I abhor.

But I found this Agate

it’s my force of habit

to deal all this crap with

your ghost I implore.

Relieve me this burden

there I’ll know for certain

whose shadow is flirting

from under the door.

For years I’ve been knocking

from inside this coffin

perhaps I’ll find out when

I dwell nevermore.

Though we both know

we’re bound evermore.

The trouble with book lovers.

Two book lovers
sit together
on the subway
reading
alone.

Do they
have
anything
much to say
to one another?

Or
is
the story
they’re reading
better?

Probably not.