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,
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.