For all this life, I cling to all you have
To haunt it yet. And warm though I might be
You wish no blood and still no warmth in me.
Then let me die. I promise you, this life
Is but half-set on me, and once unset
I shall excel at death. So watch me yet:
I too can drift like silence over surfaces,
Unsettling cobwebs, a tantalising gust
Which in an empty house unsettles dust.
I skim the mirror’s glances as you turn;
And when you reach the dark heights of the stair
You’ll scarce dare turn to see that I’m not there.
Hold your lifeless breath, and hear me draw
It from you. And keep that silence, lest you fear
Me making footsteps you can scarcely hear.
You’ll wish me there, to share some life-warmth, love:
For once I’m cold, that cold you shan’t forget,
When cold is all I have to touch you, yet.
Love from beyond the grave, though certainly creepy, is at least reliable.