Stoker stoking the Fire - #3

low flight
to her corner
blending white ash
that shadowed my wings
she startled
sequin eyes of fawn
lighting my black vision
for inside there was no dawn
I hushed her and reassured
there was no plane of harm
to her delectable form
as I carefully approached
she twitched
holding her flowers for guard
but could not resist
her catlike pupils
feature soft
Familial feline
of ages gone by
was in her grain, her fibre

then eyes converged
lust-red rebellion
13 stars
spiralling in and out
attempting to trance
but I remonstrated
she could not do that to a vamp…

yet I was pulled in
as I held her hourglass
and felt the power of her dance
rime that beauty does not
depreciate with time
but intuitively amplifies
with morgueful romance

then blurred into her defile
there stirred
cyclonic measure
dearthly uneasiness
unable to apprehend
the way opened up
as she bespoke
dark waters
to prophetical end:

“mother Transylvania
contracted and convulsed
force that repulsed
patriarchal mania
and unbound
precious wild daughters
of Pennsylvania”
Written by CanisInc-Untis
Author's Note
3rd instalment

© CanisInk-Untis 2022
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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