Today’s little piece sprang out of boredom, and so I asked myself: What about a short piece about Izobella’s demise and resurrection? And so here it is.
To Her Demise
Razor peaks beetle above the entrance
To her memorial tomb where I wait
In patient darkness for the sound of her
Breath, for the sound of her feet sliding
Along polished marble flagstone.
Waiting under flickering torchlight,
Bottles of potent virgin’s blood, laced with sighs,
Ripens in the cold of her tomb, which seems now
An eerie extension of her immortal will.
Candlelight dances now on the frescoes
Of her past, colors now muted past care,
But the likeness bears testimony to
Her delicate pale shoulders, bosom, and
Those wonderously appealing lips.
Yet those those lips, those lips of my goddess is
What always brings me back!
Faded rose petals, petals hiding carnivorous
Vampiric fangs, which permit only a shallow…
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