THE MEWS OF MADEMOISELLE L'VAMPYRE
Your lady for the night, if you'd so choose,
counts on the night within her Left Bank mews
to hide her as she watches from the dark;
she picks the flesh where she will leave her mark
then sinks her teeth to blood her soul can use.
She wonders if forever's ever done
and how it feels to walk out in the sun,
though all her memories have died away,
she still recalls one boy she'd have today
except he'd taken her in just his fun.
With all her heart, she loved, and loved him well
more than mere letters of it ever tell
but she has burned each one she ever penned
and cast the ashes to the midnight wind;
before she layed his body straight to hell.
And for her deed--the cutting of her knife
and drinking of his blood to end his strife,
her fate came to be one of the undead
the hated ones whom all of man should dread
and with such beauty, but no claim to life.
The feature of his face she soon forgot
but not the plight of love, the arrow shot
straight to the heart and still she knows its pain
and longs to touch his mouth one time again;
she lives and breathes to die--but dies she not!
Now you could have her love, if you should please
and for it she has brought kings to their knees!
But if it's more than love she wants this night
you'd best pass down the Seine onto the Right;
and not down on the Left where no one sees.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet