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Regret (Vampire competition Aug 15)
Regret
Through the field I crept,
soft grasses around my small hips, horse flies a spin away, bony in the last hours of night.
Unsure and frightened and sore, I had
a need, a thirst, a hunger over my head, like thunder.
Heavy and drumming, a stranger to myself. A danger to myself. A warmth had left me.
I could see it's veins, the flush babe, grazing in the pasture.
I slowed my steps, steadied, became a silent poacher, lifted the loose sections of my dress.
Pounced. It's eyes bulged, became bloodshot, the knives of my mouth entered it's vessel, it writhed, it moaned.
It's heart was pounding, astounding, resounding, a million a minute.
The light, the light was not playing to my favour.
I should not have savoured the chase.
Fool. The burning began, across my ebony shoulders,
up my neck, down my spine, charring, making ash of my spirit.
I panicked, searched the interconnecting green boxes for a place to hide; spotted the trough and ran.
Somehow, lifted the ton-bastard above my head and tipped it 180.
My skin flaked away as the metal slammed down from above
and French-kissed my dust of a back.
The brain lurched, forwards and laid down there in the bog of stale water
and mulched grass.
The day passed like a hurricane, thick and fearful
and I closed my eyes, passed myself back to you.
You, the 5"9, dark-haired, enthusiastic, clever, sly, witty, pale, blue-eyed Satan.
I slept, if only I could, for the night and dreamt that you were there, all hands, eyes, teeth at my Basilic vein. You were hot, with a rage I had not known, you were tired, you were ashamed
and now you were nowhere
and the sunlight was creeping
and I couldn't suffer it alone
and my body broke
and no one knew
and I thought of you.
Through the field I crept,
soft grasses around my small hips, horse flies a spin away, bony in the last hours of night.
Unsure and frightened and sore, I had
a need, a thirst, a hunger over my head, like thunder.
Heavy and drumming, a stranger to myself. A danger to myself. A warmth had left me.
I could see it's veins, the flush babe, grazing in the pasture.
I slowed my steps, steadied, became a silent poacher, lifted the loose sections of my dress.
Pounced. It's eyes bulged, became bloodshot, the knives of my mouth entered it's vessel, it writhed, it moaned.
It's heart was pounding, astounding, resounding, a million a minute.
The light, the light was not playing to my favour.
I should not have savoured the chase.
Fool. The burning began, across my ebony shoulders,
up my neck, down my spine, charring, making ash of my spirit.
I panicked, searched the interconnecting green boxes for a place to hide; spotted the trough and ran.
Somehow, lifted the ton-bastard above my head and tipped it 180.
My skin flaked away as the metal slammed down from above
and French-kissed my dust of a back.
The brain lurched, forwards and laid down there in the bog of stale water
and mulched grass.
The day passed like a hurricane, thick and fearful
and I closed my eyes, passed myself back to you.
You, the 5"9, dark-haired, enthusiastic, clever, sly, witty, pale, blue-eyed Satan.
I slept, if only I could, for the night and dreamt that you were there, all hands, eyes, teeth at my Basilic vein. You were hot, with a rage I had not known, you were tired, you were ashamed
and now you were nowhere
and the sunlight was creeping
and I couldn't suffer it alone
and my body broke
and no one knew
and I thought of you.
Published 3rd Aug 2015
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