His Kiss Upon Her Cheek...Even, After Death. Poem by Michael Gale

The ghost waverly hovered...
As if his famous, young lover, above her.

His kiss upon her cheek...
Twas never by her, felt of, so to speak.

His breath, twas so cold as ice...
Twice as white, as whittest rice.

Cold as steel, that tendered kiss...
Upon the soft moist lips of th' Virginal Miss.

If she had been good to him, when he, in life...
Enow the now, she'd be his wife.

He only comes to her-as in a dream...
To spectate of her skinned, softened cream.

She spurned his advances, while'st in his life...
Now she forever more slumbers, in tortured strife.

Th' darkest deepest dreams she has ever had...
Makes her the crabbiest, foul mooded, and even mad.

He cupped her breast upon his grasp....
He heard her breath in sleepened rasp.

Thy heart attack finally took her, to him....
Together they now be, of not his, whim.

They finally traversed the Earthly plain...
Together in handed grasply claim.

Love hath haunted her for a last of times....
Now she'll dearly pay for, all her crimes.

No peace in death, shall she find...
Forced to float and never bind.