When cold is all I have to touch you, yet


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. 


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