Vampires are such fragile creatures; we dread the dark, but the light destroys them ... sunlight, or a stake, or a cross -- such common things. Still, late at night, when the bat-like vampire sings, we shrink from his voice.
Centuries have taught us: in shadows danger lurks for those who stray, and there the vampire bares his yellow fangs and feels the ancient soul-tormenting pangs. He has no choice.
We are his prey, plump and fragrant, and if we pray to avoid him, the more he prays to find us ... prays to some despotic hooded God whose benediction is the humid blood he lusts to taste.
Originally published in Monumental Moments by Eye Scry Publications
He comes to me out of the shadows, acknowledging my presence with a tip of his hat, always the gentleman, and his eyes are on mine like a snake’s on a bird’s -- quizzical, mesmerizing.
He c***s his head as though something he heard intrigues him (although I hear nothing) and he smiles, amusing himself at my expense; his words are full of desire and loathing, and while I hear everything, he says nothing I understand.
The moon shines -- maniacal, queer -- as he takes my hand whispering Our time has come ... And so together we stroll creaking docks where the sea sends sickening things scurrying under rocks and boards.
Moonlight washes his ashen face as he stares unseeing into my eyes. He sighs, and the sound crawls slithering down my spine; my blood seems to pause at his touch as he caresses my face. He unfastens my dress till the white lace shows, and my neck is bared.
His teeth are long, yellow and hard, his face bearded and haggard. A wolf howls in the distance. There are no wolves in New York. I gasp. My blood is a trickle his wet tongue embraces. My heart races madly. He likes it like that.
Published by Dowton Abbey, Aesthetically Pleasing Vampires, Into the Unknown, Since Halloween is Coming and Poetry Life & Times
This poem imagines a modern-day "Goth girl" as a vampire ...
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