My
lens is myopic
as the lunar lights reveal a replete and sallow stillness
I close my eyes... stuck on her


Our
slow motion
Zapruder film flesh hostilities play out
They
Lurch further toward me from the worst part of my mind

This is an
ante-meridium rerun wrought familiar

Those slow motion frames serve as a reminder
and I tell myself
“not again”

It’s always destroy, withdraw, withdrawal, return
No thrill, no endgame,
but we (i) play it out just the same

Renewed, resolvent, arisen,
(my) stake is wooden,
(she is) wet, crimson lipped and collapsing
Rest coldly now, unmoved upon a moribund midnight heart

These Thoughts of her feed on me in the night.
Images that prowl, project and play like celluloid

wanting her I toss and turn,
till, I lay,
languishing, and losing
lifeblood
lost and dreading daybreak
a living dead type of drained

Forlorn Feelings brought back from
damnation
soulless and predatory
This vampire lust won’t die.


But still I doubt Nosferatu had an *** like her’s