Black tears streak her face in the rain,
A widow tall, draped in silk soft lace.
Mascaraed tracks betray her pain,
With vampire’s stillness and widow’s grace.
Silently gazing at his rain-filled grave,
Her lover lies in death—but not for long.
After the change, he’ll be her slave;
The widow’s bite is far, far too strong.
Raging emotions, held firm and tight,
Her power fills the night with dread.
Numbly he rises in soft moonlight;
Coyly, she leads him, to her bed.
They fall together, clothes depart,
Caressing softly, as she were a dove.
She touches his stone-cold heart;
They call it a myth, —— yet vampires truly love.
Silk and Shadow
