Demon Lover
It’s the season’s first frost tonight.
He’s never seen a more perfect you.
The chrysanthemums are done, the eggplant,
tomatoes, even the carrots and squash.
Does mist dampen his face, or grief?
The pull of a dark star counterbalances gravity.
You’re so light, you glide.
Your arms float up on their own.
You don’t mean to dance, but you do.
Not he. He’s heavy, his body presses
harder on the ground every moment,
crushed by want. He holds hands
with an absence, murmurs to a silence
shaped like you. He might not make it.
Do you mean to be happy now?
Do you mean to make him weep tears of blood?
Some moonflowers hold doomed buds.
Don’t you need to be needed?
— Bryant Jacobi
10/30/25
Halloween Day 30
A blog by Bedrieger Junction's Slant of Light writing group