Clouds speak
With lunar light,
As droplets
Slither from gravity.

Ambers; whites; greys; blacks
Slowly blurring boundaries
In tornado fashions.

My bag of mani-fes-tations
Drips blood quietly
While they kiss; coldly
As if forever existed.

I gave them intestine
Necklaces, and hung them from
My tree-
To make decorations.

After cerebral dancing
Their brains were gone,
But wax filled eyes-
Crafted pumpkins.

--Now I wait
-For-the-knock
Trick-or-treat?