Cats Eye Poem by grace mariner

The blood red devil dances under the light of the blue moon.
His guise that of a perfect love.
It's 3am, the witching hour and that gossamer between light and dark,
good and evil is thinnest.
Deception of the willing is always child's play as we interpret the rules
to meet our own twisted desires.
We judge what we don't understand, all the while keeping our own
proclivities carefully disguised.
But at 3am, our fetishes, our transgressions burn bright.
They play the tune that makes the red devil dance.