Written to the theme ‘Vampires’ for 42 Worcester, Wednesday 30 September 2015, and shared with dVerse Poets today. Do follow the link to dVerse, a group of talented poets who would welcome your poem and your comments on the poems of others. In the meantime…
The Vampire Prince
A Transylvanian melody
will chime through the night.
The air is still and warm,
there is no trace of light.
He steals through forest glades
to the castle where she lies,
she tries to hear leaves rustling,
her hopes she can’t disguise,
she knows he’s coming for her,
yet no fear shows in her eyes.
She loves him, oh, she loves him,
his dark and brooding brow,
his high and sculpted cheekbones,
his skin white-cold, ice-sallow.
With a cape of burnished black,
he is not the maniac the villagers
with their garlic seem to dread.
She smiles at the thought
of the crosses they have wrought
to stop him ascending to her bed.
She knows her soul will wince
when she hears the chimes, her prince
will be climbing up the stairs
to claim her for his own.
The scent of who-knows-what,
aromatic, spiced, sincere,
is the harbinger she’s waited for;
waited for, for years.
A rap upon her door
has her swooning, heart a’soar.
She loves him, oh, she loves him
and will do evermore.
Her prince leans in towards her,
his cape’s as soft as zephyrs,
it sweeps her pure white nightgown
as he slowly travels down;
his breath, a mist of insight,
strokes her sweet soft frown.
His teeth glint in the moonlight,
from her, he gets no swift flight,
she arches, sighs in delight.
His teeth make the connection
with her, gentle perfection,
it takes no great detection
she is his.
Polly Stretton © 2015