Nosferatu

in the fetal hours of the morning, when insomnia laces my eyeballs with crimson gauze and my bones disintegrate to chalk - when the heart plays cat-and-mouse with the mind, and my sledgehammer blood throbs dully in my veins... You Strike - like an incubus, Nosferatu of the tortured heart - your face looms, smooth and varnished as teak, Buddha serene, out of the shadows, a tragedy mask with hollow eyes and a deadened bone-white smile... lachrymose i receive your phantom, i succumb to the death throes of my heart, with its torn and bleeding scab ripped off afresh... participating in my own torment i extend my arms, willing, with ardour, to accept the thumbscrews of your remembered touch... tears stain my cheeks as i reap my harvest of pain, each pearlescent globe a reminder of your feather-kiss... in the shrieking banshee silence you possess me, a fallen angel of beauty cruel beyond compare - you leave no heartstring unsnapped, no slit & weeping vein misses your tongue's tender ministrations - you feed off my resilient love, parasitic, and at the first murky shimmer of dawn - Gone...! ...you dissolve into a chilly breeze and gust out of my life, callous and devil-may-care as the day you first stepped in....