Moonsieur L'Vampyre Parisienne Night

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE Parisienne Night In the still of the night by the Seine in soft light all the heart of Paris was aglow, where I stood I could see that a long night for me lay ahead if some one didn't show. But the dark all around was as void as the sound of the night life had given to me, so I walked by the Seine til the fog had set in and the world was as still as could be. In the fog every sight was a halo of light every sound of my steps were echoed from the grey weathered stone and to hear--I alone, so I walked, without lifes' heavy load. Not a care did I know; where I be, where I go, what was there wasn't real, anyway, but a dream of my youth--very far from the truth that would hide in the light of the day. Then I felt that a tear had just fallen, so near, from someone that the night wouldn't show; and distinctly the cry, of a sob, and nearby, from the breast of someone I should know. So I followed the sound to the Seine, where I found all in tears, for the love she had lost, she was ready to end all the pain in the Seine love had been in her life, at a cost! Of the joys I can feel not a one's quite as real as I get when I see love awry, so I layed on the charm and then she took my arm and we walked without her caring why. We stopped at a street lamp and her cheeks were still damp from the tears now forgetting to fall, and her lonliness fell to a bottomless well as I pressed her love back to a wall; I set her lock aside to see if her hair hide any mark--not a one I could see, so I set my teeth in to her flesh, and begin drinking all of her love there could be. How she welcomed that night, from my deep probing bite, all the love she'd just wanted to shed when I reached to her soul, I could tell she was whole, and was one of my own, the undead. And we stole from the past everything that could last til an end, then we set it all free-- to the still of the night; to the glow of the light; and the echos of eternity. She let loose her embrase, and I turned from her face satisfied, and content as could be when I turned back around--she was gone--and I found where she was I could find not a trace! So I probe in the dark, every neck, every mark from the coming of dark, until dawn but my loves are a mask, in the end, I still ask, where ever has my lover gone? © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet