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.


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