It is with true love as it is with ghosts; everyone talks about it, but few have seen it.–Francois de La Rochefoucauld
The heartbroken ghost cares not for the man sitting in her cemetery. Nor does she ponder the bleating goat. Her transparent fingers trace the name of her beloved etched in marble.
He used to awaken her with gentle kisses on her inner thigh. She’d smile and stroke his unshaven face.
After his sudden death, the grief was so great she took her own life. His spirit journeyed to Heaven. Hers was destined to roam the Earth.
Though ghosts don’t sleep, her spirit became awakened by his. The same way it was in life. His lips settled on her alabaster thigh.
100 words/Genre: Ghost Story
Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Criticisms and kudos are most welcome. Bring it on my loves, bring it on.