by Danielle Matthews

The air is alive with smoke
from cigarette smoke dancing
from fishnet-glove cupped hands
and early fireworks lit in flashes.

On my fingers fake blood
daubed on cold flesh exposed
in my trick and treat outfit
smelling of cheap teenage perfume.

My tongue is caressing
salacious treacle toffee behind
lips painted audacious red
and sweet swallowed saliva.

The night is alive with mischief
and awash with cold air
cold drinks and cold laughter
before warm beds call.

PHOTO: The author at age 18 as Snow White.

treacle toffee

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I went back to around 2005 for the memory that inspired this poem, but my love for treacle endures past my love for indecent Halloween costumes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Danielle Matthews is a published writer living near Manchester, England. She has won competitions, slams, and performs around the North West. She is a proud Word Nerd. Danielle lives with her books, and they’re all very happy together.