I want to grab your stem and carve you like a pumpkin,
Scoop the fleshy seeds out of your pulpy core
And roast them in my oven for a late-night snack.
I want to sculpt your grin like a jack-o’-lantern,
Using a flick of the wrist or a flip of the whim
To shape your lips into the mouth of my choice.
I want to create the cast of your eyes
As wicked and decadent,
And abandon you totally to a haunt of despair.
I want to hold my breath in baseless superstition,
As I lodge my pagan fire
In the hollow of your shell.
And I want to trick your treats
Under this absent midnight moon.
For this eve belongs to lost souls and sinners.
Confession and contrition
Are too holy for us now.
(For the Ninja of Japanese Beetles)