Ghost Pussy

The witching hour draws near again
As I lay alone inside my bed
I summon her every night
With a Ouija board by candlelight
A chill on my dick
And I know know she’s there
She died in 1923
She was a whore before all the HIV
But in death
She still can’t get her fill
And the best part is
She doesn’t even have to take the pill
Ghost pussy is as tight as it is cold
I can’t see her face but I can feel her on my pole
In the mirror I caught a glimpse of her reflection
Her body withered and pale but still I kept my erection
In return she never asks for much
Only to recall the warmth of human touch
But I know every time she leaves she’s satisfied
From the ectoplasm on my dick she leaves behind
Ghost pussy, haunting my junk tonight