The Kiss

{This dark poem came to me the day after Christmas, rather inappropriately.  It would have been much more suitable for Halloween.  Oh well.  It was inspired by a flash fiction written by Reena Saxena last week, for Friday Fictioneers.  I hope she will not mind my expounding on the theme.}

 

Close to the ghost

Of a wide-eyed woman,

Who wanted no part of him, then;

 

Missing, the most,

How she smelled and shimmered,

The glistening dew of her skin;

 

Halting a moment;

Recalling the shovel,

The sweat, running over his brow;

 

Touching her, then—

Was it worth all that trouble?

The exile imposed on him, now?

 

Yet he could not resist.

Coming back now, to visit,

Though risking discovery, he vowed

 

Just to dig up her necklace,

A keepsake, a relic.

She’d never have need of it, now.

 

But her ghost recognized him,

And pointed a finger,

And glided most gracefully o’er;

 

Ice-cold, she embraced him,

Seductively lured him.

The grave opened wide, like a door;

 

And the mist settled over;

The frost nipped their toes,

And their torsos entwined in a twist;

 

And the leaves fell upon them,

But neither awoke

From the blissful revenge

Of her kiss.

 

Copyright 2019 Andrea LeDew