To have sweet honey dew,
To have soft recollections in quiet vibrations of air,
To have an unmistakable fortress of solitude,
The precious quality of four carat diamond,
Encapsulating the fragile soul of a gentleman,
What I must be to encounter such a gem.
What a gem I must be...

With a grinding stone, my weapons sharpen
By letting my lips cut the air to pieces 'till they bleed,
I've learned to soften the blow
Spring waters bring forth a fountain of youth much sweeter than honey dew.

I recognize,
It takes a diamond to know one.
So I take this journey to become four carat,
For the diamond man I'm looking for.
To be his diamond lady.

Milady, are thy in need of a handkerchief?
Or an escort out while we take our leave?
I'll shield you from those who wish to harm
Why are thou feelings so shallow yet so warm?
Must remain my posture even though she makes my heart wild
Even wilder than the desires of Adam and Eve's Child

Oh Milady wait for me, I have an umbrella
Who am I? Oh i am just a mere uptown fella
What do i want? No i do not wish these haunting desires
Anyone who says i am that dishonorable are nothing but liars.
No Milady, please wait! i wish you for who you are
No Milady, Don't leave me now after you have left this scar...

Solicitation
by Michael R. Burch

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 my eyes like a snake’s on a bird’s—
quizzical, mesmerizing.

He ***** his head as though something he heard intrigues him
(though I hear nothing) and he smiles, amusing himself at my expense;
his words are full of desire and loathing, and though I hear,
he says nothing that I understand.

The moon shines—maniacal, queer—as he takes my hand and whispers
Our time has come . . . and so we stroll together along the docks
where the sea sends things that wriggle and crawl
scurrying under rocks and boards.

Moonlight in great floods washes his pale face as he stares unseeing
into my eyes. He sighs, and the sound crawls slithering down my spine,
and 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 is 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. Keywords: vampire, werewolf, supernatural, New York, gentleman, blood, neck, teeth, canines, wolves, desire, loathing, moon, snake, bird, mesmerizing, reptilian