Rosy

Little ghost lips
and the shaky feeling
of breathing sheets,
the curtains wheezing
in a humid breeze.
Little ghosty hands
I wrapped like a 
laurel crown
lightly around your neck.

Ectoplasmic and you
can see my insides,
the quivering of my 
organs
and the flutter-beat 
of my strong heart muscle,
made weak
for a moment,
by your trace smile
and quick wink. 

We are like the teasing
of lilacs by a wandering zephyr,
our bodies
trying to click into place
like little soggy picture puzzle pieces
instead
we sway and bend like newborn
willow branches.

Your ghost face still holds
its chiseled jaw,
while my fingers
become thinner
and wispy,
I want us to meld together,
and so I straighten your face
and we brush
little pale lips
past each other
for an infinitesimally 
small pause
of the heavens' movements.

We become one mass of 
translucent ghost matter
for a moment for so
in human time
and then my weight comes back.
Hands dropping and fingers
ending where they should.

Our bodies fill in 
and the bird-wings of my heart
are hidden again.

We part ways,
as though carried by separate currents,
though a ghostly trace of
pale pink kiss
lingers, syrupy,
in the air.