He doesn't frighten me,
and I never fight.
Why would I fight?
I live for these nights.

His voice is soft and the tones
are hushed,
low,
sweet,
and erotic.
Every word for my ears alone,
washing over me and leaving trails of fire,
dragging me higher until I can barely breathe.

His dark hair falls all around
and we don't make a sound
as it curtains us off from the world,
from the sight of the night
and the candlelight,
as he implores me

to bite.

To wrap my hungry lips around
the tip of his arousal,
to run my teeth
beneath the length and

to suck.

And we're nosferatu, we two,
but our life-force isn't blood.
And I push him down
without a sound
and drink it down.
His pleasure engulfs me
but the wolf... he is never sated.

I throw back my head,
staring sightlessly at the canopy of my bed
as my life runs in rivulets
down my cheeks and chin,
and I howl for more,
and he gives,
forever gives.
He's imploring me,
begging.
I suck him dry
and we live.
It's the only way we know how to live.

(And die)

It's my one fear,
that one night I'll hear him say stop.
That one night I'll drink too deeply.
That one night,
sometime between blue-grey dusk
and bloodstained dawn,
I'll take so much life for myself
that his body will dry to a husk
and die.

But he carries on giving,
and we carry on living.
I know not for how long.
Surely it's wrong to depend on him like this?

But how can something bad feel so perfect?
He's my life,
And I know as he climbs back on top
and those sapphire eyes look down from above
with longing
and want
(and love?),
and he kisses my face,
and holds me in a tight embrace,
and takes life back by drinking from me
that he and I are...
special.

And I love him.

During the day I love him
but at night...

at night he is mine,
and I am his,
and it may not be healthy,
but it is bliss.

And we are alive.

~Lava and Poison~

She sweeps into the room.
The lava and poison caresses her face,
and I stop.
Whatever it is I'm doing
(it isn't important nothing's important only her my love my precious)
I stop.

Pale, regal like a queen of ice,
or a Grecian statue brought to life
by the power of the feelings she stirs in my heart.

She tosses the stream of lava from her shoulder
as casually as if its liquid heat was a skein of red wool.

Then the poison takes its hold on me
and shoots green daggers into my eyes
and I can't breathe
or move
or think.

And then...
...then she smiles.
She smiles, and breaks her spell.

Ice freezes lava,
lava melts ice,
and lethal poison becomes love's sweet shine.

Lily loves me,
and it's perfection
as she steps forward and kisses me
softly
and tenderly
with the gentleness of dew resting on her namesake.

Because we don't need lava.

Our love is too strong to need extra heat.

Her breath mingles with mine
(like our souls)
and I know there's a heaven,
for I can see its lush and verdant gardens in her eyes.

~Jealousy~

I hear their sordid union every night,
the way they bite and push and lick.
I'm quick to close my eyes,
feign sleep,
hide pain.

They think I don't know.
They check sometimes,
bend down low,
lean over me and mutter, "He's sleeping."

No I'm not.

I'm lying here, stranded, lonely,
(aroused)
(no... of course not)
dying.
And Remus' bed...
Spells silence their howls and yells,
(don't peek peter that's sick it's wrong you know it's wrong never peek)
but where's the charm to stop the creaks?

The red drapes swing back and forth above the floor.
They move fast and hard as if to prove their love is true.
Sometimes
if I just happen to glance that way
(accidentally of course i'd never look at them they're gay
it's wrong ungodly wrong wrong mum always used to say)
I glimpse their sweat-shined bodies
sliding over each other,
and their faces
and hands
and...
their lips
and...

And Prongs and his flowergirl
(love her breasts and her skin and her eyes
but mostly her hair like sunsets like love like fire)
propel each other higher and higher,
further into heaven
with each languid thrust.
They need no silencing.
They just breathe deeply
(don't peep don't peep she'll never be yours
that's prongs's girl not yours never yours)
and there are two low moans
as they finish
together.
As one.
They're one.

They're one,
and I'm one less than that.

I love them all during the day.
They hug me and smile and say,
"We'll be friends until the stars turn cold."

But at night,
when the daylight is seduced
by the velvet sky and satin moon
and gives herself over to dark...

Two have passion,
two have pure love,
(one has my heart)
and I have

hate.

~END~