Black Leather Vampire

I come from hell
not of screams and fire
but the quiet and shadow
of an old Victorian house

I hear your heated cries
see the livid pulsing glow
of incandescent ache
through foggy mists

I walk the streets
hunting you
you will know me by
the sheen of black leather

it does not matter
where we join together
for you will be dead
in such a brief time

your lips on mine
as your vitality eases
golden like music
effortlessly through my veins

later I will visit you
at your grave
a mourning stranger
haunted with regret

but I must continue on
in this body I was cursed with
must return to my Victorian home
its rooms full of dust and dolls

to sit and wait
for my next victim
listening for his call
of a visceral loneliness

that black-patent plea
of passion
a sweet-sad aroma of sound
in the velvet night