Your pale stare, so cold became
A final kiss I’ve come to claim
My hands within your brittle hair
A hint of dust floats in the air
Where fingers trace, my touch does leave
a subtle streak upon my sleeve
Stiff your lips, as yet uncharted
Livid blue and slightly parted
Coax your tongue from where it hides
Taste the powders they’ve applied
Once more your eyes, white as milk
Lay your head back on the silk
A smile born, soft and slight
or just a mere trick of the light?
Goodbye then, I gently bid
While sadness blooms, I close the lid
Greg Jones is a horror poet from Wisconsin whose first horror poetry collection entitled “Meet Me in the Flames” was published by WildInk publishing in October 2024. He has a second collection coming late 2026 entitled “Apologies to the Morning.” Greg works as a librarian in suburban Milwaukee where he lives with his wife, three daughters and a growing collection of skin covered tomes.
He can be found at www.gregoryallenjones.com.
Published 2/14/26