Soil thaws, and your ghost gnaws
on my bones. Sneaks under eyelids
as I sleep, leans on every fading doorway
of my dreams. Seven years to the day
and my body bleeds
when the full moon ripens. You see,
I owe a gift to quiet gods
in exchange for protection.
If I pray, will you be swayed to
stay away? I smell my name
on your breath; your soul
sends spasms down my neck.
You leech into my bloodstream,
warp eclipse season magic
to saturate my dreams. I wake
when you strike, still bleeding.
Still blue.
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with love, amy elizabeth
I love the imagery