…and one more.


I draw desperation like blood
into a vial, and I’ll share it
with you, my nocturnal savior,
your legs wrapped around me
before I can breathe your name,
a sacred thing you limit because

you say names have power and I’m
already taking enough from you,
a vampire with little motivation
except making you moan and crave more.

We recline in borrowed light of the moon
and keep our thoughts to ourselves.
Still, they vibrate between us, speaking
their own silent, ancient language
of need, fear, and regret.

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