I don't believe in ghosts.

Or maybe,
I think,
I do.

I do not believe in ghosts
that reek of blood.
Of those who ebb
out of tv screens;
of those who slither in
each dream.

But I do believe,
and fret, perhaps,
those who come
unexpectedly.

And leave
- then leave -
every piece of them
in each piece of you.

Of those whose kisses
trail down your spine,
only to find each tingling,
*gone.