Monday Potluck ~ Twelve strokes past midnight

It drifts through the dark, a chill
wisp of mist on cold night air,
a dark contrivance wreathing

Silhouetted against shuttered
window panes; stealthily pale, a
shadow under a wire strung moon

Passed locked doors, searching;
seeking entry through cracks and
flaws:

a memory, feigning innocence.

~~

I'm guessing everyone has been out trick-or-treating and now you're all full to the brim with your booty. Don't forget to brush your fangs...ooooops, teeth, I mean teeth.  Have a wonderful Monday and week ya'll. :))

Love,

Eaton