Oh, whispering whine
of my evening tormentor,
on my blood you dine.
Your song of high pitch
heralds your vampire habit
and leaves spots which itch;
Red, lumpy unwantedness
peeps out from my summer dress.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
Oh, whispering whine
of my evening tormentor,
on my blood you dine.
Your song of high pitch
heralds your vampire habit
and leaves spots which itch;
Red, lumpy unwantedness
peeps out from my summer dress.
© Emmie van Duren Oct 2015