Ghostly to touch,
painful to feel,
the perfection is there —
ever so real.
Gather my things
and away with the wind,
my and heart and my mind —
such terrible twins.
Close to me now,
yet never to touch,
I love by my heart,
but never by much.
© Jacquiline Fraser
Golden tendrils down her head,
messed with sweat
or so she said.
Misty eyes glazed with sun,
her distance furthest from everyone.
The deepest heat beat down
down
down
she could not even make a sound.
I found her heart ripped from her chest,
the bloody organ a pounding mess.
Her fingers lay doused in blood,
she said to me it was a dud.
© Jacquiline Fraser