Napkins: Rare Poetry and Prose Archives, 1995-2004 by Steve Dustcircle - HTML preview

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The Welcomed Stranger (Alternate Conclusion) (via 2003)

 

Up three floors, absent of a balcony

She stands in nightgown, arms outstretched

Absorbing the night, only half asleep

Awaiting for the welcomed stranger she met

 

Abruptly he arrived just last night

Past the locked window and before her bed

Fear awoke her, visited, and rapidly he left

She had become infatuated with the undead

 

He, or it, dressed in holy black evil

Yet full beauty he was, expression desolate

Her veins pulsated, begging to be pricked

His eyes dark, vulnerable not, but insolate

 

Her thoughts interrupted, the wind whistles

Singing their songs through scarecrow trees

A flood of random bats blocks out the moon

Fatigued, she involuntarily drops to her knees

 

Then the welcomed stranger's present

All love and terror that of folklore stories

In confidence, he's intimately close

Mysteriously powerful in his loathsome glory

 

Like a gentle cyclone, they arise in dance

Limbs entwined, two hearts joined as one beat

The side of her throat begs, head tossed back

Gasping together, the inevitable defeat

 

Suddenly his eyes of love flashed red

And locked into hers for her submission

Denied, his pride flares up, his raging temper

Drives him to pounce without permission

 

His pastel lips curl, revealing his canines

She breaks away unwantingly, eyes of tears

Like that of a dragon, he rises up in fullness

The winged epitome of every human's fear

 

He, risen, seemingly absorbs all energy

The demon of beauty, yet the human's prepared

He swoops in like a bat to attack her neck

Only to find himself staked, the vampire unspared