Goth Ghosts

She came to me in a silken dream,
A misty, opaque illusion,
By sunrise she was gone again,
My thoughts spun in confusion,
Who was this lady of the silver moon,
Never waning, never waxing?
Alas, to me, she left no name,
Only mystery and vexing.
Each night, in dream, she came to me
On a velvet breath of wind,
Through a pillared corridor of sleep
To caress me once again,
With cold and ghostly fingertips,
That sent shivers up my spine,
And words of softly whispered kiss,
"Soon you will be mine!"