You will not see us
as frost strips fingers bare.
This is a strange and shivering air.
You will not see us
in this darkening sky,
where rumours of shadows
haunt this crooked knot night.
You will not see us
as lips orbit skin
as bare as breath,
spinning with a frenzied grin
of sin and hair.
Beware
the freeze of ink in this writer’s night,
of hell and madness.
Prepare
for tonight we are ghosts.