Inter-Afterlife

Haunted are the streets in the cool morning mist
A glow in the distance of a patient Will-O-Wisp
Thousands of faerie kisses on my cheeks in this tryst
A whisper in the air – the city’s phantom lisp

So I move about in this inter-afterlife
Is it spooking me or am I the poltergeist
What was a banshee’s whistle turned out to be a fife
The streets had once unnerved me, now I’m imparadised

Photo by Naseem Buras on Unsplash