Horny Harriet got her tits in a twist at a Halloween party. Poem, by Friendship, at My poetic side

Horny Harriet got her tits in a twist at a Halloween party.

The room was loud with masked deceit,

Where Horny Harriet moved with measured grace.

A married dame of fading street,

She wore her boldness like lace.

Among the men she played the flirt,

And laughed too loud and drank too deep,

Unheeding of the coming hurt,

Or secrets that the dark would keep.

Though years had silvered all her hair,

Her mirror lied to what she spied;

She thought her aging bones quite fair,

And youth still danced within her pride.

The cat’s meow, the reigning queen,

She thought she owned the Halloween.

Then through the smoke a figure came,

In velvet red and snowy white.

He called her softly by her name,

And bathed her in a wicked light.

She smiled, and leaned against his chest,

To taste the thrill of forbidden play—

Not knowing she had joined the jest

Of demons masking for a day.

For beneath the beard and scarlet coat,

A pair of horns began to rise;

A chuckle caught within his throat,

A sulfur promise in his eyes.