By Gloria Harvey Copyright ©2026 At midnight’s lip, the jack-o’-lanterns glow, Their wicked grins all amber, low, and sly. You move like smoke where moonlit shadows flow, A velvet spell beneath a bruised-oak sky. Your mask slips down, but not enough to hide The hunger sparking softly in your stare. Black lace, red wine, the candleflames collide, And cinnamon shivers through the haunted air. The ghosts lean close, then blush and drift away, Too shy to haunt the heat be