I seek, stalk the streets like a
Succubi;
Greet the shadows as kin, ravenous.

Bright, our desire
Light, our pyre.

I draw on scent, on touch
Toss those bright sparks down my gullet-
Drink them like a stiff whiskey,
Watch them shatter when they clear.

They always clear.

I like the dark stuff,
Cinder and velvet
Just beneath the surface
And almost as smooth,
Trace their features before they're
Consumed, distilled, revealed.

Some take longer
Burn fiercely like
Small suns on my tongue
Remain once the glass has tipped
And they are the prize
I cannot theft.

Too bad for them
I'm always thirsty.