drool leaves distinctive silhouettes of rolling hills,
love doves in flight, pentagrams on knightly shields.
Disparate voices regale in my bedchamber closet
filter up the heating vents, muffled by magic carpets,
float freely from the downstairs living room far below.
Witches live beneath my bed, their pale, boney
arms, cling to dust balls, stretch out skeletal
fingers, grasp my legs, attempt to pull me under.
Spirits inhabit cream-colored, vintage venetian blinds,
possessed breezes squeeze between slim shutters,
refreshing & cooling my face, chilling my spine.
Wild Things crawl through my open window at midnight,
invite me to demonstrate defiance, dance a moonbeam jig,
jump on my box spring & mattress till wooden slats break,
wait silently, alone, for mom’s well-earned reprimand.