Who’s that spectre slapping lather on my cheeks

shaving-photography-black and white

I step out my steaming shower
and wipe mist from my shaving mirror.

Who’s that spectre slapping lather
on my cheeks with bony fingers?

He’s the Ghost of Present Tense,
although he haunts the past and future.

When he brandishes his razor,
I grin and offer him my throat.

– Richard Cecil


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