She raised her glass
to a space of fragrance
gifts of perfumers and chefs
bees for our banquet.

"Tonight we dance."

Her glass rose
and so did theirs.

"Outside this stained window
lose specs forced to shake
water flushed from the sky
as if migration made it light.

Zeus and Thor collude
against our dinner feast
abhorred by its stature
green isn't color that fits.

Nevertheless,
tonight we dance."

And her glass rose again
with them cheering it.

"Youth flee their lessons
burdened with pesky
and serious concerns
long past their tender.

For what of their guardian,
exhausted will she manage?
the pilling of warnings?
of crossroad endings?

Regardless,
tonight We dance."

And her glass rose again,
they're lost at her turn.

"Broken close their eyes
to their fate and its price
they planned for luck solely
but got struck instead.

Their doctors prescribed
but held was their fund
for useless is the mallet
to the insurance wallet.

Anyway,
tonight WE dance."

And her glass rose again
but gone was their wit.

"Looking-in hands implore,
forsaken howl at our spoils
like wolfs without a den
or a pack to take them in.

They'll surrender to the rain
and recoil to any found dent
of this majestic construction
to remind'em where they stand.

All the more reason,
TONIGHT WE DANCE!
Because we can!"
And she gulps the wine.

Slowly the stunned room,
in its palpable gloom,
was silently emptied.
The extravagants gone.

"Good, only I remain,
let it linger just the same
in their spoiled brains.
For we alone hold the chains."

WE GET IT!
I get it...
You insufferable prik!
You HATE all of it!

You hate your job...
(and somehow...
that is my fault.)
You hate me...
You hate my family...

But it is Christmas.
Let us inferior
Optimistic fools
Have some joy for the day
And for God's sake
Get your glee ******* frenzy
Out of this place
And take your bitter taste with it.

I shall open my door
to you
Any other day.

Winter falls upon you
Like the icy morning dew
That freezes in your surface
A shield of unimportance.

Your back hurts from the frost
Bitten you ignore the sense at last
Shed from strain of polite games
Under that cover that is your age.

But the white fluf speckles that walse
On their labirintic ways to the grounds
Will turn grey as your hair and melt
Before you feel their Christmas sound.

You are free but so alone
In this unforgiving tone.

Two glaucous lights
pierced the dense mist.
A breath of wind,
muffed a voice sing,
pushed violently
the naked branches of bistres
that caged out the moon
and alabaster rags
revealed in a pair.

The air shifted,
cutting icy at my face,
so did all branches,
the rags at me pointed
and I could distinguish:
"Hold him!"

My feet disobeyed
the ticker pumping
in angst to move away.
Down at my ankles
I saw dirt hands graspin'.
I looked up again
to stun at the approach
of this gleam of a ghost
towering over me
like a hologram
of a past unsealed.
"Hold him!"

Her voice brought tears
to my trembling knees.
Sweetened by a longing
that regret imprisons.
"Hold him!"

I heard of the tale
of a mist in February,
he had gotten out for wood
after a love ruffle
over the frost of the moon
and never was heard off
until this day.

She had lost her might
searching the next nights
until her body gave
still dressed in the gown
she back wore then.

Seems she searches today!

Her lanterns recognized
my understanding gaze.
With a sigh of relief
she crossed through me
leaving a taste
of daturas and moss.

In shivers I woke
and felt your warmth,
so I grabbed it tight,
cautious not
your dream to rob,
laced myself at its side
"I held you!"
while you are mine
to find.

Her blue jeans flow into leader sneakers,
a **** fair face with wild hair ponytailed.
Her thin figure blends effortlessly thus
into the testosterone full fragrance.

Fortunate coincidence of features
with those promoted in trend magazines
freed her to intellectual ventures
and to snub the complying mannequins.

The random chromosomes combination
granted further stubborn intelligence
to pursue the defying vocation
most contrary to female convention.

Many stars aligned to tunnel her through
a ceiling she's better poised to fracture.

There is a point unavoidably found
when although the view grows ever fonder
the dirt under your soles turns to stone
and the road promises splits no longer.

You're compelled to turn over heels to peek:
There is no way back yet extends on end;
You recognize each tree from root to peak
for the solace of shade they'd extend.

You can still count the rocks of tougher climb,
shiny ponds you filled with sweat, blood or salt,
or breezes that eased the steamiest time,
through those bulky barks that you groomed from sprout.

Either fills of treasure your breathing chest
or quicksands you into a hollowed step.

Knock... knock...

And I open the door.

What are all these masks for?

The night is fought
by candles and lanterns
carved from vegetables
in my front porch.
Loafs of pumpkin and spice
must reach the roads end,
the perfect bait!

A spider on a web over a face,
pale olive completion with hollow screws,
a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace
where dripping blood was reproduced.
All huge eyes and brightened teeth,
hands extended in gluttonous cheers
begging for candy and all sorts of treats.

A cold gulf of air freed through the frame
on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape
unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin
curated with rice powder and gin.

With blood thirst in my ruby stare
petting my hissing black cat
with the lowest voice I can set
I tower over them and declare:

"Your costumes were bought!
You cannot contain your glee!
Take some paste for your tooth
that is all that it is worth here."

Before they could **** in their pants
I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs.
Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans
check their picture and wait for their parents.