Give her an inch and she’ll take
the two point five mile walk to
you house, even though its late, and the
snow refuses to let the world sleep
under the white blanket it’s already laid.
She’ll show up a half hour later,
red cheeks and teary eyes
you can’t help but to hold her ten frigid fingers,
fold her into your lonely bed
the ghost who came to appear
in the flesh in front of you.
She’ll melt before morning,
leaves her clothes empty on your floor,
and herself into a puddle next to your side.
Her eyes will melt, she’ll be just a girl.
She fills her vacant clothes quickly
and vanishes once again.