The Truest Haunting by Richard LeDue

Making love to a ghost at midnight 

only leaves you more tired,

lonely, as you realize 

your eyes were already closed,

redundant in a dark bedroom, 

where your memory fakes

that there was an echo

when there was nothing 

but muffled silence 

(lips at least spared a bite) 

because the dead voiceless 

and probably watching something 

more interesting 

than your own slow death.

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