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Conductor

Tags: erotic


The elder mummy foretold me, as I was entwined in gauze and stood in the sand to my knees; “Don't be exorcized by a two-faced omen.” The pain engulfed me as I withered, then was reborn as dead. As I craved the womb with a pearl in its oyster bed between thighs.

Like gypsy moths in caravans, a brethren of the damned. Moving across Europe when present-day England was nothing but a rock. Giving mortals a new kingdom of the un-dead. A glorious aspiration long before there was a Union Jack. I took snacks at dusk while mortals bled.

Now, in my wakeful nights, dusk calls me to rise. Two flights up in a brownstone, surrounded by intricate webs seeking death to give life, moonbeams waterfall through my windows. Feral bodies scurry to darkest corners with dread.

My ghostly dowager of a landlady, her beauty ancient with a petite appetite for wayfaring strangers who conventionally serve and disappear. Planted root deep among her turnips and petunias. Death giving life. Now her skin so pale and tits swelled with a life of a vampire socialite, beneath chandeliers. Often embracing young gentleman, before she sucks their honey.   

Hunger fuels my journeys. Dark pathways travailed purposefully. Gelatinous as aspic, the fog drools as if bone marrow. My kingdom, a world without light.

Like a kettle drum, Big Ben echoes through the silence. A knoll of foreboding that leads me to match heartbeats. There is a rhythm to death. A cadence between the sense of rising fear and the calm of acceptance as you expire.

I, Vampire, am the conductor of a symphony played by the un-dead. Masturbating my baton as your lips feast my succulent opus.

Yet, I feel the pulse that your heart beats. Could it be my love and eternity that you seek? As I drool between the sheets, and your hips levitate toward my wanton lips. Forever and ever, starlings at our window of the dark. As we soar on lost highways towards more tomorrows.

Celebrating your pale party.

 

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