By Greg Carson Copyright ©2026 Silk night drapes the moon in a sultry glow, Candles lick air with tongues of amber flame, Your gaze—like a dagger—cuts soft and slow, Whispering my name as if tasting the same. Pumpkin light spills curves in molten gold, Smoke curls around us, a serpent’s caress, The wind’s sly fingers slip through the cold, Tracing the spine beneath my black dress. Graveyard roses breathe perfume of decay, Yet sweet on your lips, the scent turns divine, We dan