Phantom Man

Her soft pale skin,
smells of sweet vanilla.
A sea of tiny stars highlight
ribbons of golden hair.
With each step she takes
they drift seductively, silently,
as she ventures through the night.
Two steps ahead of her,
but ten steps behind.
I bathe in sweet vanilla,
enjoy the glow of golden curls;
As I approach from the shadow,
I’m untouched by stars,
hidden from prying eyes,
from cautious eyes –
I am a ghost:
without body, but filled of intent.
She can sense the danger,
I can sense her fear!
Ten-thousand tiny hairs,
stand on guard,
while chills race up her spine.
Her trembling hands
Form shapes of clenched fists,
And her painted nails pinch her palms
She glances back – she tries to run,
But I’m quick and she’s late.
Her moonlit curls fade to black
sweet vanilla now lost in the wind
I consume her soft, pastel skin
and bring this phantom to flesh.