Something comes…
It comes upon the weeping of the wind…*

He once long ago licked love’s poetry into her eager ears,
He sang soft sonnets which soared and sailed over her curves,

She sat by the shadows of the alpine wood as he spun her hair,
She could hear his heartbeats resting and rising to a hypnotic rhythm,

His snarls slapped and scratched her cheeks,
His hunger addicted to her rose scented blood,

She now waits by the locked door of a weeping widow’s web,
She feels the air bristling through her shape shifting thoughts,

He who knew her killed her,
She who loved him loves him still.