(no subject)

Mmm, playoff hockey.

(no subject)

Oh, oh, have you seen my ghost?
She’s walking in the mist,
her feet are bare and insubstantial,
her hands by water barely kissed.

I caught her once brief as sparks,
Her face a swirl of vapour-grey,
a quick emergence from the cloud,
then a breeze danced her away.

I’d like to take my body and
walk down to the coast,
bare my feet, fade away,
and be one with my ghost.