A Brace of Christmas Ghosts

I once had a lover
who lived as a boy in Cheyne Walk
amongst girls who curtsied to cakes
at Queen Charlotte's(harlots) Ball
Or these days to a Duchess and a remaindered Romanov
He walked amongst literary shades
in "the writers block"
and asked in hotels age 5
"is there a spoon for the mustard"?
I can still recall my bone marrow
running like water from melting bones
and my skin tickled pink
by our mutual wit

I once had a Father
too
so beloved that people spoke at the goodbye bash
for over two hours
of his brilliance and wit and kindness

A lovely haunting