Nightfall

She drinks the red from the rose

Draws worlds between the fire and the cold

Grey eyes stare through the shadows

Composed, yet formless

Graceful, yet still

I will be your fresh kill, she says

A cigarette in hand and a glass of wine on her lips

This time is divine, defined by filthy wings

Who would carry our demons across

These minefields

Who would bury reason

And wipe the blood from the blade

Bring life from the grave eyes

Of the devil

She speaks her verses in foreign tongues

Where no trivial word will be sentenced

Ley lines circle the dead

Exposed, yet mysterious

Seductive and dangerous

I will be your last will, she says

Her fangs on my neck and my thoughts on her flesh

This moment intertwined, designed to weave webs

Who would hold fast in their traps

An immortal

Who would bury the royals

And rinse the mud from the spade

Bring light to the shadowy side

Of nightfall.