Ghost.

Dark thumb prints alternate

down your rib cage as 
engraved shivers,

It's where I held you.

Skin erupting in a web of fingers.
It's where I held you,
outside of myself.

They, they, they
will feel my fingers intertwined

amongst yours.

They, they, they

will brush against my invisible hand

clutching the inside of your arm.

I hold, steadfast

A gypsy curse cast from the runes

of my womb.

This year without your day

It makes me feel sick

I am drowning in the kitchen sink.