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In the heat of moments,
Where incandescence mirrored flame
Dancing marigold shadows on alabaster skin,
Flush pink rosy cheeks greet with ruby red lips curled
A quaint smile, in a quiet Manor.

Quiet manners,
In succinct hungered eyes
Staring into permissive lashes
Batted from sapphire pools,
Lively looms of auburn Toole
Shading cherub roundness of her French features,
Obstructing beauty that begot but a heavy sigh.

Pallid cold fingers,
Reach to swipe the silken veil,
Close to her heat, she’s radiant
Sun-washed white, Christian pure.

She offers her hand,
Like an hors d’oeuvres,
She encourages the beast,
With tiny begs and pleads.

Fangs descend,
Parasitic hunger contends
With romantic candor,
Need not to soil sentiment,
He won’t be rude or offended.

A kiss,
Chilled lips touch throbbing wrist
Tongue teasing the riverbeds,
Sending them into blued shivers,
And then a pang rang through
Screaming at the synapses,
The sinew snap of the epidermis,
Snap pea in its clarity,
A rarity in her giving so charitably.

A lashing flick,
Twirling like butterflies patternless flight
Suckling the honeysuckle nearly dry.
As sapphire eyes slated to drained gray pearls
Slinking frame bracing on the shoulder of a chair
She smiles still, given fanatically
She loves with majesty and anima.

He kisses her like a long goodbye
A farewell crept upon phantasmagoric moments
Splashed as vividly as neon paint along black-lit canvases
Her body pocked with punctures
Polka-spotted chic in tapped keg kinesis.
She yearned to join his side,
Like some corpse bride
Under the guise of sanguineous wines
Forever entwined,
And who could deny it?

But he did,
Hid behind chthonic masquerades
And never wishing to see the day
An ageless love betrayed his fragility,
A heart that ached so eternally
Tragic in their symphony
Played out in hungry morsels.
The immortal who loved a mortal
And her spectral haunting,
In every drop given.
a story of love, vampirism, willingness to please beyond reason, a need to shelter with the fear of happiness.
Damocles Jun 10
There’s a scent of trouble in the night air
Here in this blue-black pitched alley
Where she leads with a hypnotic sway
Hips moving like a pendulum
And I’m her fool wanting to get my hands on
Leather-clad round peach-like curvatures.

She stops me with a fingertip
Pressed upon my silky lips,
Hints of honey, lavender, and vanilla wafting
Intoxicated I drunkenly stumble on my feet
As she grins, careful not to show those pearly white teeth.

She tells me to stand still
Moving like a siren in open water,
Circling, and kissing parts of my neck never touched
Electrical pulses fire sending shivers,
Cool hands fondling over marbled muscle
I’m feeling flushed and dizzied.

She feels the rush of red,
Flow through my rivers,
And filling her prize,
Fabric straining,
Painstaking,
I bite my knuckle,
Must regain composure,
Must regain…

I hear the belt unbuckle
I feel the tug of hands by my waistband
Her eyes light with awe,
As my fleshly serpent bounced and swayed
Free from it’s cotton laced cave,
I try to say something…
Going too fast perhaps,
Barely know her,
Not even her name.

But thoughts go blank
As her wet-tongued ballets
Twisting like licking a vanilla cone,
Until the warmth of her maw
Became a second home.

Lost in the ecstasy
My hands gripping her jet-black hair
Pulling while moving hips to dance with her skillful dancer,
Until the pain comes.

Clutched tight by the upper limbs of this spider,
She enticed me with silky romantic gestures,
****** pleasure,
But as the bite enters my swollen member
I feel faint, my heart slowing, wishing to surrender
As the world spins, asunder
Weaker, feeling each pint dither
As the last drops travel lonesome
Through a cave of dried and wilting river beds

I only wanted a chance encounter
She only wanted to be fed.
This piece is about vampirism, specifically about being seduced by someone in the clan Toreador (if you're not a vampire the masquerade fan here's a link: https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Toreador_(VTM)) it is meant to be darkly seductive and provocative. This piece should not be consumed by anyone under the age of 18.

if you feel this poem is too dark or too obscene please message me before flagging, and I will happily take it down or make it private. The last thing I want to do is cause harm.
Zywa Oct 2024
The bat-faced yellow

queen of ****** pleasure:


her razor-sharp mouth.
Novel "Vreemde streken" ("Foreign places", 1985, Renate Dorrestein), chapter 5

Bardo Thodol (The Tibetan Book of the Dead), India, 8th century

Vampirism

Collection "Old sore"
Greyisntwell Sep 2020
She remains beautiful as I grow old
Her raven hair flown in and out of
The atmosphere if I wear to die
She would remain immortal.
She is time and space she is
Beauty in its finest form
And I love her in this
Prelude to tragedy.
The words breaking like
The silence, I've waited for
So long for HER to return
The sorrow feels so wrong
When her grimacing smile
Makes me feel so heart felt.
This tragedy is centuries old....
And her roses are all dead.....
The tales are all told...
And she will remain Immortal....
This one when I wrote it I was about 17? 18? This piece went through so many name changes.. Immortal, Ravenna, but Prelude to Tragedy just stuck with me better. I hope you like it.
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