October Jumpscare

October brought pristine

weather to our evening together.

The fireplace crackled, cedar burning bright.

In my new brick home,

furnished at last, we relaxed into the night.

My neighbor, Ginny,

accepted my offer

to play a scary flick,

which would surely amplify

our anxiety and twist our

thoughts into knots.

When Ginny rang the doorbell,

I motioned for her to come in.

Ginny wore a beige cardigan

and she had her long,

dark hair pulled back

in a ponytail.

She had a hint of velvet along her neckline.

We chatted before I played the film,

engaging mostly in small talk.

As the movie played,

Ginny inched closer for comfort

over intense suspense.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder,

and she moved even closer,

so close that I could feel her heartbeat

faster than a jump scare.

Ginny nestled against me,

covering her face with her hands,

but peeking through her fingers at the screen.

I turned and gently lifted her chin,

unsure of what to say

or if I was even supposed

to say anything.

I closed my eyes,

entered her personal space,

and pressed my lips to hers.

Ginny sighed and returned a long kiss.

Soon, we ended up on the mahogany floor,

exploring each other’s bodies,

swapping kisses along

our warm skin as we avoided

the movie’s resolution,

where the boy gets the girl.

“Trick or treat,” she said.

We fell for each other’s trick,

living out a lovely treat.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States