Once a year on All Hallows’ Eve,
a séance you would not believe,
I hold in the bowels of a crypt,
in a cemetery non-descript.
To see my true love’s visage appear,
though her soul is no longer here.
In the dark with my Ouija board,
and ancient trinkets I have stored
In an enchanted reliquary.
Truth be told, it’s all quite scary.
Reciting the Book of the Dead,
Over locks from her golden head.
Even as my voice quakes and quivers,
Goosebumps form all over as I shiver.
First her scent wafts in the still air,
her querulous voice wails in despair.
“Who disturbs my eternal rest?”
Though terrified I must confess.
“It is I, My Love, who does call,
Your Soul Mate whom you have enthralled. ”
I see her now as in a dream.
a wraith that I can touch, it seems.
Holding her tightly in my arms,
wearing my amulets and charms.
We spend a night in macabre bliss,
Sharing a taboo, depraved kiss.
Then she vanishes with the sun.
Once again, my heart is undone.
I crawl to my bedroom weeping,
no intent for rest or sleeping.
Lord, I miss my beloved Genevieve
more than anyone can conceive.
I will count down from three sixty four
’til I hold my ghostly love once more.
Living my life cursorily,
awaiting my anniversary,
forever on All Hallows’ Eve,
to be spent with my Genevieve.
M. Zane McClellan
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