HER MIDNIGHT LOVER: a poem

After a long, dark waiting, he appeared

on a night windswept and chill,

making the old Earth cry blood-red tears.

Burning ice-cold with flesh long denied

Life's warmth, he sought to replace his lack with

my own weak pulse,

while holding my heart, night-bought and conquered,

in one pale hand.

I sought my damnation in the darkness, and would have won it,

but for the blood of the Old Races burning in his veins.

When it called to him

He didn't resist,

forsaking the puny Mortal who desired him

to return to the Mountains that birthed his Kind.

Thus now,

when the wind moans soft while the clouds obscure the moon

and through my open window

I hear a soft wing's-rustle break the night air,

I sit and hope and wait,

But he doesn't return,

And I cry alone beneath the waning moon,

And I cry alone beneath the cruel moon.