Stop it. You’re
fucking with me
from beyond the
grave.
Aggression swelling my
veins, my chest.
Every muscle stretched
taut.
In my eyes
smolders the fire
of my remembering
you.
-
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Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
I like this a lot. It feels like a more concise version of what I was straining for when I wrote this poem years ago.
I guess we’ve all got our ghost stories.
Indeed we have Howard.
WOW. This is my kind of poetry. Passionate. Angry. Soulful (no pun). Even my descriptions do it no justice. Poem favoured, indeed. Ali
Thank you.
Like this one. Went back to read it because it’s the perfect example of that angst…but you’re right. Anger is present in this one. I love it!
🙂