Velvet Shadows at the Witching Hour

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 dance where the dead keep secrets at bay,

Your hand on my waist, a spell in the spine.

The night hums low, a predator’s purr,

Blood-red wine swirls in crystal desire,

One kiss ignites what shadows confer—

A feast of flesh beneath autumn’s fire.