My Nosferatu

A strange and callous eye fell in

Insect fingers clacking gently

She whistled reeds and ceased to breathe

hiding in the grass

Her torso itched so

Silent prey, we pray she will remain

A milky bright light pricks skin in licks

another flapping mammals’ curdled squeal

Riveted amphibious yodels interrupt us

her hunter cracks the frost


Embers offer an odorous thought

Elephantine fear, that which will not sway

Collared by it, weeping blooded lip

she totters down an edgy cast

to run? to crawl? to slip? to fall?

Or simply sweat (without our beads)


But i’ve a violent wish to slip a disk

If he wills it she will excuse herself from danger

then the yarrow’s yellow splay comes around

depicting oestrogenic thunder


Fangs have gnawed this wood before

she knows a boneless touch called hunger

Relinquishing her grip to breathe

Corrupted sellotape-like prise

underdone and dangling


This kiss resents such natural bloodless ardour

Thin skin relents to spent and lonely men

Gracchus slapping mottled thighs

Daubed and nought are undertaken

Rippling folded feet don’t dance

Don’t rib the eye, these kinds of failings come


A coma rubs the forest floor

Decay connects to decor daintily, lice amongst the fern

She ran that day the fangs indented

Slippered marble hands left aloft, one anticipated flourish

my Nosferatu, clubbed and coffered

Rinsed in densely ignorant tones

A walking wing, an eye on a string, a finger at the mast



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