Ghost

Something about this wind feels alive,
The greyer skies
Tastes bluntly of tears in every breeze.
Caressing through the strands of my hair
Like an overbearing lover with a tight embrace;
Kissing dead branches in a reminiscent touch
Trailing cold fingers across the
Body of our dream.
From the foggy puddle between our toes to
Swirl of lonely smoke,
Ashen bricks to the
Anorexic ivy curls-
Everybody's clutching to these moments
Haunting as a smudge of grave.
There's something alive about this
Wind that tastes of death;
Bare, pale and naked like a walking dead.