Dark Desires

It is a night of ethereal pain, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness.
The beautiful one awakens.

Night shrouds her brooding form,
a timeless wanting.

Her midnight hair cascades over
translucent ivory shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.

Now a night of new awareness,
I remember her.

Ian V. Seymour ©2011

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