The Mews of Mademoiselle L'Vampyre

THE MEWS OF MADEMOISELLE L'Vampyre Your lady of the night, if you'd so choose, counts on the dark 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