The branches of the trees leaned like eavesdroppers
Over this Halloween night.
“A bit of weather, we’re having,” one tree remarked,
Checking his watch nonchalantly.
They were waiting for something, and killing time
Or maybe simply bored-
Like men in an elevator,
Having nowhere to go but up.
Us, on the other hand. Our hands were sticky,
And we could still taste the butter
Flowing over the squashed pumpkin
And the roasted hazelnuts.
You asked about the constellations.
I didn’t know the answer.
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