Ghost-life

Ghosts in the spaces between your fingers,
where it sometimes tingles
and you feel like there’s something there.
Something unknowable, always known.

There as you make your coffee –
spinning in the cup with dissolving sugar,
waiting for you to take a sip,
they pass quietly through your parted lips.

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About abigailbaross

Writer and aspiring publisher
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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