… in the night, you and i are gods.

strolling through the cavalcade of humanity,
hand in hand with the world around us
a place and time to be recorded in
memories yet being penned, to be penned…

… forever, lover… page after page in our story.

dancing with you, arms wrapped tight around
the one thing i shall ever want or need.
feeling you close to me, breathless moments
with lips brushing against lips, closing eyes…

… to kiss you. rob my breath and take my life.

i beg you. yours, each day, yours to capture
completed are we, two pieces of a puzzle,
sewn together into a tapestry.
yours, unending symphony, enthralled by you…

… immortal lover mine, my soul’s delight.

walk with me through passing scenery
and fill us both with the enchantment
i can only find in you. walk with me and i
shall be by your side, come what may…

… your eternal companion…

… your poet, bound and true…

… a constant star inside the night sky
we possess and claim as our own
through shifting sands and rising tides
now, lover, and forevermore.

what could be said more than the
languages invented by men?
fickle, the sentences, often written
to lay the foundation of houses built on sand.
i watched the tide come in once.
it swept away the firmament.

tell me what conveys truth deeper
than these falllible tools?

would droplets of blood upon a canvas
do the work of a hundred sorcerers
casting a hundred spells to make these
small and simple phrases
lift from the page and bleed into the
cracks and fissures of your heart?

would the whispers of angels
in the ears of gods on thrones above
lace the ink spilled on the parchment
with such magic, the truth could not
be spoken any more sincere?

bound to the earth, i am.

the spells and whispers, the drops of blood,
all of these things yet find their footing
on those castles made of clay
laid down by servants of the master of deceit.

the written word, the double-edged sword,
slices through the marrow, but not often
to mend or bring the peace which
simply knowing often brings.

instead the truth resides within
not the tools… not the pen and ink before me,
but within the soul of he who writes them.
the heart of he whose fingertips
hold the instrument within their grip.

the poet speaks his very life
within the shaky breath and the
weak knees, the tears and soft caresses,
imparted one upon the other.
love, like a river flowing,
soul to soul and heart to heart.

such is the cadence of words
presented with hands outstretched before you.
let eyes meet eyes and hands meet hands
and therein lies the truth.

all i ever wanted,
lover mine,
the feel of your breath
on my skin, the shivers,
the tingles, running up
and down my spine
as though bolts of
electicity, attempting to
restart a stilled heart
with your touch.

all i ever needed,
my eternal maestro,
the feel of your arms
wrapped around me
presence so close,
a whisper passing
between us within the
still of night, so blessed.
kiss me again and
dance with me in dreams.

and i shall find you
in the spaces in-between
and i shall find you
in the moments spaced
like breadcrumbs leading
me back to your heart.
keep me locked there
so i can be free,
keep me immersed there
so i can drown in you.

all i ever longed for
my fallen angel,
the sense of completion
the quiet, the tranquility,
a mind at rest and a
body settled against
mine, i kiss you
once more and pray
to whatever gods listen
to keep us this way forever.

i gaze into the portal of self
whenever i am close to you, my lover.
you lead me to the doorway and
invite me into the corridors of truth.

such volumes; so many stories of
the way things were and the way
things could be. i look to the future
and think of chapters yet to come.

so many winding, twisting paths,
how much i wish my young heart
were a trifle older so i could say
i shared those experiences with you.

but there are words yet to be written,
ideas yet to be penned and
symphonies yet to be composed
by the skilled hands which lead me onward.

there are dreams yet to be dreamt
and lives yet to be acted out
on life’s grand stage; shall we
play our parts, oh maestro mine?

speak with me and i shall
speak with you. share your thoughts
with me and i promise to be the
open book you plumb eternally.

so many things await inside a
future yet to be determined.
tell me of your past, my lover
and we shall forge our future together.

kiss my lips again and tell me
all your sacred secrets.

tell me your thoughts, lover, while i inquire
on the matters of soul to soul,
how two beings can be so tightly woven
into such a work of art as we.

touch my face and tell me
who you are inside.

reveal to me the things which tempt me
ascending to the heights,
my want, my need, my symphony,
arm in arm, we sing of one accord.

come to me and we shall
dance under the moonlight.

i catch my breath, as though the need to
breathe consumes my very core.
i bite my tongue to taste the blood and
sense you in the crimson flow.

eternal one, my heart soars and my
knees bend in admiration of you.
take my hand and sink with me in passion,
my maestro, lover mine,
my fire and ice forever more.

“Hello, Peter. How are you this evening?”

I lower my hands from the keyboard the moment I hear him. He starts as a shiver up my spine, but then becomes a voice and the voice echoes only to gain strength the longer it reverberates. I shut my eyes and lean back in my chair, rolling my head around once, slowly, as though attempting to work out a kink in my shoulders.

My failure to respond does not deter him.

“We go through this every evening,” he says. “Every evening I ask you the same questions and you offer the same responses. Back and forth until you relent. Wouldn’t you like to be spared the argument tonight?”

“I would like it,” I finally say, “If you would leave me the hell alone.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.” Two hands rest on my shoulders. Psychosomatic? Heaven only knows. “You and I go back too far for me to simply leave you be.”

“I do not have to listen.”

“Oh yes, yes you do. You see, Peter, you have nowhere to run and never have. You never will. I was there the first moment you tasted blood and have been there ever since. Speaking of which…” He leans closer. His breath hits my ear, teasing it with its warmth. “Aren’t you feeling a trifle peckish tonight?”

I jump and slide my chair out, uncertain if apparitions can be knocked off balance, wishing they could as I come to my feet. As I spin around, I expect to see him there, staring at me with those emerald-green eyes which resemble mine far too well. Nobody stands behind me, though. I should have known better than to expect to see him standing there.

Especially when I feel his fingers slide from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

I shiver.again. He chuckles as my lids drift shut once more. “Where exactly are you going to go?” he asks. “Run? I dare you. Take flight? Come now, and try to escape me, but you know damn well you cannot. I thought we had an agreement. You and I, one at last. Isn’t that what we agreed?”

“I do not want to do this,” I mutter.

“Oh yes, you do. Do not kid a kidder, sir, you wish to do this and more. This is why we have this discussion. You know what you are and you know what I am. You know this voice that speaks into your ear is only speaking the innermost desires of your heart. I love the same as you. I loathe the same as well. We hold the same things captive and the same things in esteem, only I take it one step further and I confess those dark things you are not willing to confess.”

“Stop it right now, F – …”

“You stop it. Quit trying to give me a name. We both know how useless that was. You would shudder at night anyway, feeling those urges intrude on you, calling into your ear much the same as I am speaking to you right now. Don’t deny it. Cease trying to form a dichotomy again.” He stops talking, but does not step away. Instead it seems he grows closer. He looms larger. He overshadows me and that decadent craving he alluded to starts making its presence known within me.

I groan against it, but find myself waging a losing battle. He knows it, too.

“What do you want, Peter?” he whispers.

“Blood,” I say. The word runs from my lips and down my chin in rivulets of crimson. I think of that one vice I cannot live without and it infects my thoughts much the same as it does every night. I need it. I crave it. I cannot live without it. “I want blood.”

He smiles. I do not have to see it to feel its sadistic warmth radiate on me. “Is that all?” he asks.

I swallow hard. Why does my throat suddenly feel so dry? “No.”

“What else?”

“Fear.” I smile despite myself. A sinister grin. “I want them to be afraid.” 

“Of what?”

I lose control of my tongue as it continues spilling out the darkness inside my soul. “Of me. I want to make them shudder. Make them quake. I want them to look me in the eyes and see their worst nightmare come to life. Sharp teeth exposed and murder in my eyes. I feed from it. I crave it. I need them all to be afraid.”

“Yes, and that they should be. They do not know what they trifle with, yes?”

“The devil.”

“The devil come for their souls.” I close my eyes. He circles around me; I see an image in my mind of him pacing around me in a thoughtful repose, as though sizing up his protégé. “Come for whose souls now, dark assassin? Tell me. Tell yourself. Their fear tastes that much sweeter, does it not?”

I nod despite myself. “Yes, it does. We come for the killers. The wicked in disguise. I want to punish them.”

“Punish them for what?”

“For all their evil deeds.”

“Yes. To hear them scream. To feel their terror rage through you like a thousand volts of pleasure as you pierce their skin and sink your teeth into their neck.” A pause. The hair on the back of my neck stands aloft. My skin prickles. “Now tell me, evil angel … What are you?”

My voice becomes a whisper. “I am a vampire.”

“What are you?” The question fired in a rapid manner.

I answer just as quickly. “A killer.”

He delivers the final blow. “And who am I?”

I open my eyes and think it. My lips speak the truth, no longer able to deny it. “You are me,” I say, and in that moment, my darkness ceases to be a separate entity. Poison in my veins again; I take a deep, steadying breath and sense the night calling to me, the pulse of humanity beating with a siren song that lures me out onto the patio and forces my eyes to focus on the city before me. My ears tune themselves to the sinners of the metropolis. My senses catch their scent and the taste already drips liquid temptation past the pointed teeth and onto the tip of my tongue. I have this fight with myself every night; with the darker side to my immortal psyche.

But he’s right. I’m right. The hunger always wins in the end.

enjoy, fair mortals. *smiles*
peter

abiding slumber i bequeath

eternal kiss of death i bring
with silver tongue and sharpened teeth
a wicked denizen of night,
abiding slumber i bequeath

all you who rest in ignorance,
you silent dreamers lost in spring.
the chill of winter overwhelms.
eternal kiss of death i bring.

all you who dance within the dark,
who come upon your lifeblood’s thief.
i lure you to the grave’s embrace
with silver tongue and sharpened teeth.

you damned and finite mortal ghosts,
immersed in decadence and spite.
i taste your sins upon my tongue,
a wicked denizen of night.

you’ll not escape the judgment come,
the threshing plow of blade in sheath.
with one fell swoop, you’ll breath your last.
abiding slumber i bequeath.

—

a vampire’s tango

calls the night to all its servants
devils slip out through the shade
unbridled wickedness unleashed
to curse the mortal world with death

starlight shines on dark proceedings
moon and shadow set the stage
kiss me now and taunt me later
funeral pyres await till day

come with me, immortal brethren
come with eager hearts enslaved.

fiddlers fiddle through the chorus
play us now the vampire’s tango.

sanguinary passions play out
through the steps our bodies take
wicked dance, come steal the moonlight
wicked demons, rise and play

step with me, in bloodlust raptured
step with me, inflamed, insane.

fiddlers fiddle through the chorus
play us now the vampire’s tango.

i reach for you, your pulse a siren
a call that beckons me to thirst
i kiss the skin that razors pierce
and drink the life contained therein.

quietly, you slip to slumber
quietly, your candle’s flame
consumed by darkness, wick an ember
surrenders one, another’s gain.

the garish sun begins to rise
immortal twilight fades to day.

fiddlers rest their tired fiddles
until the next immortal tango.

—

better the devil you know

rose petals upon piano keys
crimson sliding from ivory
dripping onto the floor
a stain that symbolizes
something permanent
that has become something
much more temporary
transient mortality
the death of more than desire

she trusted me once
sat beside me as mozart played upon
the keys beneath my fingertips
her body swaying to and fro
as though wrapped up in whimsy
i permitted myself a grin
because the angels never sense
the demons in their presence
never want to believe somebody
could be so cruel to them

what do they say?
better the devil you know.
she thought she knew me.
it only took a drop of wine
between her crimson lips
for her to smile a wicked smile
and become lost within the
melody of death’s sonata
placed a hand upon my shoulder
and as she leaned in closely
i smelled her sweet perfume

parting from the music
to touch her long, brown hair
yes, she trusted me
and i, in turn, cared for her
however demons only know how
to destroy everything they touch
the tender kisses
placed upon her smooth skin
became rougher as two sides lobbied
for control over the man

did he love her or wish
to crush her
as he did everything else
was it the human who wished to taste her
or the devil sating his selfish whims
her lips parted in a tender moan
yes, she trusted me once
and, in turn, the predator smiled
and took hold of the reins
forgotten piano music
to a forgotten melody
that had once been the soundtrack
to their dance with one another

instead, the rose traced a path
across her satin flesh
before the sharp points
of porcelain daggers
embedded deep within her soul
the master she once trusted
became the demon depleting her
the soulless bastard i once was
replacing the saint i tried to be
did not rest until her humanity
became nothing more than the smoke
from a dying ember

i took from her and watched
the gothic princess i adored
close her eyes in death’s repose.
smiled the devil’s smile
as i licked my lips again.
and as i gazed upon the piano’s keys,
i saw her hand placed upon the next chord
the next set of notes we’d been destined
to play together
crimson slipped out from her body
and coated the piano keys instead.

yes, she trusted me once.
she laid down her life for me.
and i merely took from her
before casting her away.
and as she slipped into decadence with me
i placed my hands upon the keys
and played the chorus of the cursed
the corner of my mouth
turned upward in a pleasant smile
better the devil you know, perhaps
but it would have been better
had she never known the devil at all.

—

behold the devil dressed in black

as red seeps down, in rivulets,
it forms a pool of decadence.
the fallen, in the night, attacks.
behold the devil dressed in black.

his winter coat comprised of fear,
he smites them all, each you hold dear;
each one a voice upon the stack.
behold the devil dressed in black.

their lives are forfeit, only death
will rid of us of this soul bereft
of love, compassion; all he lacks.
behold the devil dressed in black.

until the demons claim his soul;
until the fires consume him whole,
beware and show this man no slack.
behold the devil dressed in black.

i write because my silent heart needs to have a pulse.
there is life in the old man;
there is life in the young soul.
i write because without the notion of pouring
words like a fountain onto fertile ground,
there is no life; there is no meaning any longer.

i am nothing more than the dog-eared pages of an
albert camus novel without the heartbeat of a poem.
i am nothing more than the empty bottle of scotch
lying on the floor, spinning around to find the
person who might offer these cold lips a tender embrace.

i need the spell of music; the symphony of words,
pricking my skin and allowing the deluge of my soul
to pour outward, like a river running out from a chasm.

my mind cannot find stillness in the chaos without the sweet taste
of emotion and sentiment on my tongue, a visceral temptation.
i crave the decadence, yet search for the salvation which comes
when pen and paper intertwine like two lovers
achieving perfect consonance deep within the night.

all for the taste of
sweet, red warmth.
liquid fire through my veins.

replenish me again.

can i lean a little closer?
smell the scent of your perfume.
drown deep within your essence;
can i take another drink?
porcelain dances across sweat.
teeth tangling with flesh.
you my temptation and i
your sanguinary lover.

replenish me again.

it’s been too long
since i’ve felt the warmth.
let me drink a little deeper,
until our bodies meld as one.
let me slide my tongue across
the lingering droplets.
you taste like wine; so rich.
the finest merlots
could never compare.

replenish me again.

be like the carnal maidservant
serving the master.
sink into the arms that hold you
within the lover’s grip.
so deceptive.
still, i promise i will not let go.
i will hear your darkest confessions
as you whisper them to me.

all the things you’d like for me to do
for i have fallen from grace as well.

replenish me again

and i will take you under
the deepest spells.
drift to slumber; into the hands
that hold you.
i will sing you a lullaby.
and in the midnight hour,
as you slip through satin sheets,
into the realm of saints and martyrs,
i shall thank you again.

all for the taste of
sweet, red warmth.
liquid fire through my veins.
your essence, love.