New Poem
Ghost of Etiquette
Cogs grind behind a fluttering veil.
Her fuel burns dark under spider silk and ghost lace.
As she flits across the dining hall,
I‘ve seen your teenage daughter shake;
a ghost of etiquette still warm.
Cogs grind behind a fluttering veil.
Her fuel burns dark under spider silk and ghost lace.
As she flits across the dining hall,
I‘ve seen your teenage daughter shake;
a ghost of etiquette still warm.