Nosferatu
in the fetal hours of the morning,
when insomnia laces my eyeballs with crimson gauze
and my bones disintegrate to chalk -
when the heart plays cat-and-mouse with the mind,
and my sledgehammer blood throbs dully in my veins...
You Strike
- like an incubus, Nosferatu of the tortured heart -
your face looms, smooth and varnished as teak,
Buddha serene, out of the shadows,
a tragedy mask with hollow eyes
and a deadened bone-white smile...
lachrymose i receive your phantom,
i succumb to the death throes of my heart,
with its torn and bleeding scab ripped off afresh...
participating in my own torment i extend my arms,
willing, with ardour,
to accept the thumbscrews of your remembered touch...
tears stain my cheeks as i reap my harvest of pain,
each pearlescent globe a reminder of your feather-kiss...
in the shrieking banshee silence you possess me,
a fallen angel of beauty cruel beyond compare -
you leave no heartstring unsnapped,
no slit & weeping vein misses your tongue's tender ministrations -
you feed off my resilient love,
parasitic, and at the first murky shimmer of dawn -
Gone...!
...you dissolve into a chilly breeze
and gust out of my life,
callous and devil-may-care as the day
you first stepped in....
|