The ghosts are hungry-
Feasting on the wide eyes that lay
Through the early mornings dark-
Hiding from the dreams-
Hunting flesh-
Hunting memories tucked away
Beneath the comforts of their pillow cases

So they lay-
Warm to the touch-
Soft
But cold-
Brittle within-
Cradled by intent-
Through the dark ante meridiem

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro