Graceful as the ghostly moonlight
glittering among the thorns,
I feel him,
the warm whispers of the quiet forest listener.
He saunters, leans, and looks,
approaches, crouches low.
I cannot let his deadly perfection come so close to me!
But see how he relishes me?
See how my blood-heat kindles him?
See how he feeds on my submission?
Look—His hungering eyes grow dark for me,
reflecting legendary, horrifying depths . . .
he fights himself,
and his stone shoulders tighten
with restraint and desire,
with wicked control.
But he is too much, even for himself,
so the night lion growls and pounces.
There . . .
slowly . . . I feel it . . .
are his infinite delicacies.
His breath is hot upon my neck!
He turns my face to him,
his eyes flash and blaze,
he caresses me with warming fingers,
and floods of sweetest fire weep over me!
Not to drown, but reborn
as his consuming desire
feeds my resurrection in him!
Beautiful as the silver moonlight
pooling among black petals,
Poor prey . . .
Why does something so preciously helpless ever evolve?
Why so tender? so perfect? so submissive? so sublime . . .
See, she struggles to conceal her quaint scarlet blushes,
and her small pale hands make weak display.
But there is strength in her, and she knows . . .
She senses the warm breath of my desire hover over her.
Poised, I pause above her lips.
The clinging mist upon her flesh is sweet!
With graceful sinister motions,
her full, bare throat yields her honey drops.
Her neck’s thick pulse pounds,
hearts plunge and bound,
joined in deathly counterpoint.
I soak in her sounds, while
she bellows longingly in the glade,
echoing moaning notes,
black sounds escape the velvet forest,
revealing the heart’s darkest parts.
Her trembling life retreats, revives,
releases . . .
Now, my gentle fawn,
You will rise angelic against death’s glowing darkness,
reborn within our sacred ceremony,
sacrificed, for our secret moonlit marriage!