Vampiric Aura

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  • Passion

    Vampiric Aura

    Vampiric Aura

    Time...
    Time……
    Time………..
    Time begins slipping away
    My soul ignites straight down through its core
    Afraid to move……unable to stay
    And perhaps in a way, weary of what lies beneath
    For the tangled web we weave is one of secrets
    And of passions longing to be fulfilled
    Yet since there is no truth in thinking a war can be waged
    Where innocent blood is not spilled
    I am chilled to the heart by the sound of the bass thundering upon my ears
    While my mind flutters at the touch of her hand as I relinquish all my fears
    Into the delicate illusion caused by her hair against my face
    As we stand comfortably in position, invading the personal space
    To which we clung desperately only moments before
    We become covered by the roar of the crowd, bodies all around
    Yet there is an all too vivid distinction between the outer and inner sounds
    Somehow we stand there, completely in tune with the rest of the room
    While subtly being suffocated from the event itself
    Exhalation of breath becomes a speech pattern all its own
    And as if through some undiscovered form of meiosis, we generate primitive pheromones
    Hers trickling from her pores, through the air and down inside of me
    Love not the song’s sweet whispers, only the moment’s reality
    Therein lies a presence of control exerted by my arm’s retraction against her weight
    A preliminary plucking upon the strands of twisted fate
    I dance carefully with the scent of the perfume that was lain strategically to attract
    Observant but not fully aware, distracted by the curve within her back
    No “Mack” nor any “Player” has ever been fortunate enough to see
    The beauty that rests therein her existence, a silent symphony
    And so she was sent to me….
    Or perhaps it was I who was summoned to her
    That if only for this fraction of time her triage might concur
    With the aura that is close
    A tick of the time, a sip of the wine, indeed the final toast
    Most could not articulate this stream that flows so deep within
    Yet from only a moment within the grasp of one of the pure blood kin
    A pen is filled by our memory, the night we created the center stage
    She a beaconing focal point and I the splinter sage
    Though this page cannot do justice to the gleam in a woman’s eye
    The one that is conjured when she finds the connection between her tongue and thigh
    Of head and tail, of up and down, of gravity
    Then stop…..
    A blink of an eye, a loose in the tie, our subconscious answers the clock
    The rush diminishes, the dream she finishes, and the look recedes from across her face
    My instincts return, the second hand turned, she remembers a strange man within her space
    Tick...
    Tock……
    We return to the party with a bond not easy to trace
    Slightly glazed eyes conceal the surprise nostalgia towards the chase
    But this isn’t our time and she is not mine and therefore the lips will bear no lies
    And until the next time we part our ways or until the morning’s rise
    I will be from you and you will be from me with no delusions of evermore
    Yet through the inscription placed upon our canvas we are together nevermore

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    FoF commented on Vampiric Aura

    03-22-2009

    I am a vampire fan, myself. I like the "time having stopped" feel to this.

    bandit1192 commented on Vampiric Aura

    03-03-2009

    Very nicely done. Well written, well told. Great poem. TS

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Scorpius’s Poems (5)

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