Scratching at the front door,
the cold wind moves from a whisper to a wail.
Soft slippers sit side by side,
a desire to slip into my slippers and walk downstairs.
Sorrowfully waiting for the scratching to end,
you tempt me to return to you.
Tag: ghost
Ghost
Nothing tangible
to touch tonight,
his ghost
an ethereal plume.
C & K 