Ghost Girls of Helsinki

our kind of love, you tell me, is not for the living.

our kind of love, you tell me, is imperatively nocturnal

and, like a germ, invisible to the naked eye.

encased in your cotton bed,

i ache to scream your name into the forest,

across the slumbering dockland villages,

beyond our island to smothered cities.

but we both know that the fisherman glow of the city

would bury us alive if given the chance.

we both know being one of the living

is a luxury neither of us can afford.

so,

with the duvet over our heads,

we tell ourselves that we are ghosts,

and between the bedsheets is a perpetual halloween,

where our legs are allowed to tangle,

like honeysuckle on bones,

and where your ghoulish girlish whispers tickle my spine.

in the cemetery of our sheets,

spectral visions tap-dance on gravestones as we groan

softly in the dead of night;

your death rattle and mine intertwine

and i am alive i am alive i am alive with

something beyond death

and more than love.

***

we tell ourselves that we are ghosts

because

i love you as if bewitched;

in sleepy star strewn valleys

where there are only hushed constellations and

tender candlelight, soft shapes of snow curving like

your breasts under my fingertips.

i have been aching for you, for your bonfire lick,

for the longest time, my love.

these sheets are flammable

but, blessed with ambiguity,

i am no longer afraid to engulf you.

***

we tell ourselves that we are ghosts,

and yet,

my love for you is anything but skeletal.

under these spectral covers,

we are ripe peach flesh and the soft blushing skin of spring,

sweet juice seeping from papaya seeds.

you are my enigma and i am yours,

my phantom lover,

dig your fingers in and haunt me harder.

***

in remote bliss,

and with the forest at our feet

you mumble around my earlobe,

half eating me alive,

i do not want to hibernate anymore.

this duvet has been weighing us down

suffocating us six feet under.

take that blanket off your head, angel, you tell me.

together, we can topple tombstones.

so, in silence, we lift the weight of our love,

and i see:

soft lamplight on your lips,

bright green eyes; the first frost thawing,

your throat peppered with tiny crimson flowers…

i see you, wholly,

i love you, holy,

and we are alive we are alive we are alive

let’s kiss each other, you say,

like humans.

---

CatherineRose is a writer from the North-West and First-Class graduate of the English Literature and Creative Writing program at Lancaster University. Catherine loves writing about LGBT culture, queer relationships, mental health, social media and anything else that excites her heart and inspires her to tell a story. She also loves drinking copious amounts of boba tea, watching Studio Ghibli films and being anywhere near the ocean. You can follow her on Instagram @catherinierose and read her poetry and journalism at https://fluoxequeen.wordpress.com