340th Weekly Poetry Contest winner: I Arise With The Paling Moon
by Regina
In the late August hot~coals afternoon, the gladiolus stir gently in the humid breeze, as children raucously walk home, an augury atmosphere, as hushed songbirds retire to sheltering foliage, a quieting of life's very pulse, then, in a rushing roar eventide's hunters in great numbers fly from their cavern in high~pitched squeaks, my daybed is cold marble, my skin in pallor, and as I awaken, my burgundy dusty gown rustles, my long nails polished black, my lips a dark purple, I arise with the paling moon, orb of lovers, yes, but also of us dead, my heart beats bold, then quickens, as my vampire prince emerges from the cooling mist, will we have our crimson elixir in silver goblets before dawn breaks so bright? our night journey begins with his kiss of passion.