People like bad things

Women like bad guys

Men like naughty gals

Kids like bloody things

People like bad things

Just ask Bonnie and Clyde

And night/time blushes-closing its eyes

Moon’s Whisper fills the sky

As night descends.

The moon, ancient -voyeuristic---leans low---Her silver breath caught in silent gasps.

For - in dim-lit corners, secrets stir awake

Lovers meet under gnarled oaks--Kisses stolen from forbidden fruit

Hearts aflame with reckless longing.

The thief--murderer--trickster--all nimble of finger-wicked-sly--slip through moonbeams like liquid silk.

They pilfers dreams from unsuspecting minds-Leaving behind echoes of stolen pain--heartbreak and questions--as laughter mocks and taunts.

Through misty windows, families curl upon sofas--on the screens bloody serenades flash as mayhem unleashes horrid bloody films from creators of gnarled minds--entertainment?

People like bad things!

By the water’s edge--the artist-- Brush dipped in moonlight, canvas aglow. He paints the ache of lost souls, their sins Rendered in hues of regret and desire.

The revelers gather, masked and wild, Their laughter echoing through moon-drenched streets. They sip from cups of mischief and regret, tethering on the precipice of consequence.

The moon, wide-eyed, observes it all: The whispered confessions, the evil deeds, the tangled limbs, The fragile balance between pleasure and pain. She weeps silver tears, her secrets safe.

Dawn tiptoes over the horizon

The night’s transgressions fade like mist

And the moon resumes her celestial watch, Her gasp swallowed by the waking world.

To the night--where moon-kissed hidden desires and twilight escapades, create and explore.