The Garden Ghost

Should you be near the garden gate
When autumn’s days are running late
You’ll see a figure turn and wait
And in the shadows you’ll debate
If you’ve seen the Garden Ghost

You’ll see her there amidst the gloom
A witch without her cat and broom
Her silence like a vacant tomb
The fleeting Garden Ghost.

She’s quicker than a summer hare
Glowing, pale, nude and bare
She’s there, then gone into thin air
You can’t predict her what or where
The skittish Garden Ghost

Her body seems a supple treat
From flaxen hair to ample teat
Hers is a kiss you mustn’t eat
The alluring Garden Ghost

Her beauty is a siren’s call
Her features cold, a waxen doll
The unprepared may trip or fall
Beside the gate, along the wall
When near the Garden Ghost

Her moan is like a far off dream
She’ll take your breath, you cannot scream
She’s not at all like what she seems
The cunning Garden Ghost

So if you see her passing by
Don’t speak aloud, don’t meet her eye
Resist this spectre, don’t ask why
For if you don’t, you’ll surely die
The wandering Garden Ghost

Violet

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.