Ancient Language

In a hush billowed as a spreading cape, From the pallid throat of some vampire countess, As poised upon the battlements, ululating to wolves below, Breaking silence, breathing spells into the wilderness. Her tongue moves sweetly, expounding syllables That cream soft and claret smooth lap mental shores, Translated in perceptions, belief system decoding, Lilting, caressing and whispering: “I am yours.” The language of the heart, ancient as the rock, Ancient as the stars whose light burns bright yet cold, Deciphered in desirous cryptograms, music of the night, And a charge that fires believing in all that men are told. To taste and dream the parables, to taste her tongue, To communicate with lips on loin and breast, And draw forth from the mouth, the spillage of her sex, Declaring love undying, and all else laid to rest.