The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

found that i speak

with a modest tongue

not quite versed

in the majesty of

latin, and yet still found

powerful words to

accompany vibrating

strings, still sending waves

through wooden bodies,

and skins stretched tight

over metal rounds. swore

that Houdini himself couldn’t

conjure sudden gasps and

sprawling realization. magic

defies arts lives

I am alone with the moonlight

Cast through my window.

It touches my shoulders,

Burns them,

Fades behind a stratus

Cloud and sinks low;

I wish for it to appear again.

Tell me stories of a love that

could be true if we existed-

Conjure stories.

Did we dissolve in some disjointed dream,

sought its lost content?

Did we dance to the syllables of an unheeded tune,

From unknown days and unknown towns?

Who would remember us?

For there were no others.

Could love remember?-

If we existed,

love would tell us.

Desire, a romance of the

Eyes. A stain

Tainted un-thing that

Changes with seasons, dies

Out like plague–

It will murder our faith

And dwindle-

Embers sizzleing

Smoke thick with

Unknown.

I fell in love

with the thought

of never

knowing you.



[ You, this mess of dirt and flesh ]



Knowing how

Your mouth

Would

Form words.



[ You’ve no sound from across a swollen room ]



Yet I find myself

Already growing

Bitter

As time does pass between

Us



[ to know you, would be to hate you ]



And i have no time

For taking

Those fruitless

Chances



[ like young lovers do ]

There’s a time and

place for the way you

think about me; when

the lights smother out

under the sky;

I am a recurring image

of what could have

been but never was,

or will be.

I should tell you I’m horrible at

This,

Proving to you

What kind of human

I am.

That,

Sometimes my own company is

Intolerable.



Under bedroom lights,

You know, the ones that illuminate

patches of skin most

Cannot bare

To gaze upon when all is still

And ceased from sound

Wave.



I should tell you that most days

I am unworthy

Of favor .

Of bread or

Splendor,

When all the pretty women

Flash beneath the moon

Their skin that

Makes the wolves hungry.



I should tell you that sometimes,

I am one of those

Wolves.

There’s something

about you I want to

take.

Your round about sadness,

pouty lips,

the way your mind

spins

like a top, clockwise,

level. Then drops

unloved without

a sound.

I am dressed to rust;

washed out in

sun

low hung against

stratus clouds of

mid-week grey.



made to fill

in the blank spaces that

occupy seconds and hours;

added preservative for

months and years;



trash n scattered ashes,

you lick up my pain

from your finger ‘n thumb,

there I lay

between index void.

The bitter taste on the

tip of a

tongue.

All the way down to your skin

That slid off when you let

Me take a look inside,

I have felt a reel pulling

Me forward with,

This lax momentum —

Your fingers strung a crown

Of silver and gold around

My head where

Thoughts stuck between

The leavings.

Made pathways along my

Scalp that burned your

Image in my retinas,

Took refuge neath my tongue.

You brought the taste of iron

Along with wine that settle

Swelled in my belly until

It burst with lust .

Muscle tense skin

Touches from

Nail dirt laughs.

Vodka breath hushes

Upon chest

And under

Belly spasms.

What do you

Look like when

You touch?