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I was naive, a shadowed spark,
Drawn to his darkness, the lure so stark.
On my 21st, he claimed the night,
A breathless feast in pale moonlight.
Unfurling hunger, he bared my soul,
Sipped my warmth, made me whole.
With lips so cold, a thirst so deep,
He drank my secrets, stole my sleep.
His fangs brushed close, a wicked creed,
An ancient hunger, a lover's need.
Each sigh he stole, each shiver fed,
Till shadows bound the words unsaid.
And when he left, my pulse grew weak,
As love turned blood, so bitter-sweet.
A hollow ache, a haunted lore—
For in his arms, I was no more.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes in the alley
PoetryIn these pages, you'll find poetry that lingers like the scent of smoke, capturing the allure of secrets kept close to the heart. The night becomes a lover, the alley a refuge, and each word a step into the beautiful, melancholic dance of souls year...
