After the Party

When you’re around,

I call my ghosts by their first names

because you don’t believe in them and I’m determined to prove

we can exist together.


Sometimes you ask me to read

out loud to you and I imagine myself

opening my mouth

and a thousand voices spill into cupped hands.

I imagine myself

speaking another language

while you nod along and draw circles in the sheets.


When we go out, I want to ask all the people at the bar

if they want to meet them, but you

squeeze my hand and tell me I look good,

but uncomfortable

so here’s another drink,

let’s sit down, relax.

Look at the lights.

Look at how they shine through their skin.

This is what

translucency must be like.


Yesterday, you watched me undress and said

ghosts don’t have bodies

so I must be real.

I offer you my breath,

but you can’t swallow it.