FLANIGAN’S GHOSTLY LOVE

 

This is the nightmare touch,

The feely, moody feel

Of a bedding down ghost

Beside you; snuggling close

 

Whispering those words

Of long ago, drip dripping

Her love words over and into you

 

Like snail juice on dark green leaves.

Her pearly touch, her breathy sigh

Inches through and through

Into you like damp rot

 

Or dry rot of damp socks,

And her whispery words

Prick and pick until the sick thick

 

Pain pukes you hell wards

With her cuddly arms

And icy ill fingers

 

Tracing your thin spine

Down to your sexless drive.

Terry Collett, is 58 years old, married, has eight children and eight grandchildren. He lives in Horsham, Sussex. Writing since 1971, Terry has had two small books of poems printed and has had his poems and short stories published in various anthologies and magazines. The few poets who once influenced him are long gone and buried. Lately he seems to be writing in some kind of limbo land.

Dance to Death, Issue VI

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.