He comes to me late at night,
my vampire,
when he can wrap himself 
in a blanket of velvet sky,
a secret hidden by shadow.

A gentle tap, tap, tapping
upon the window pane,
a dragging
of nails across the glass.

He is no gentle lover,
he comes to take, to conquer.
He whispers bitter somethings in my ear,
no sweet nothings here.

Skin on skin,
his fevered touch sends shivers down my spine
in a perverse and heady cocktail,
fear to compliment the ache low in my belly.

He is walking sin,
mischief behind that harlequin grin.
He sends fire to places deep inside,
and I can no longer distinguish between pleasure and pain.