Do you ever wonder how many ghosts are ***ing you up the arse when you bend over?

Lovelily lovely and listless and light
Dilly-Dallying Daisy's.

Her brazen array of words of one syllable
Crept down my vertebral
Like a parade of angry ants
While we ticked off the scribbles scrawled on our 'To Do' list
Of places where we'd fucked.

I smelled the letter that you sent
I smelled the shoes that you had left
I smelled the pillow where you slept
And I still see her ghost, sometimes,
Faded and jaded along the sound.