October 18, 2026
BY Jenni Astramowicz0
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The candles flicker
in the darkened lair.
Font glows
four inches deep
inside hot plasma
eager fingers
evoking words
in delicate foreplay.
When the witching hour calls,
the thread veers wildly
into unthought tangles
bondages
of
silk
and
straw
Below, drunken fools
stumble through the streets
chasing a romance
already conquered.
damp
hot
breath
blows
out
flame
at last
The muse is totally spent.
October 2026 Poetry Project
Day 18 of 31
