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Caroline Grant Mar 2016
It is a night of dark desire, a song of darkness,
wolves vent their howls. The eternal one
awakens.

Curling, icy wisps of death shrouds her small form,
a timeless need.

Her silken hair cascades over
pale and delicate shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
soul streaming from the
frozen flesh beneath
her.

Now a night of ecstasy,
I remember her.                                                                                                        
My sweetened love.

— The End —