a collection from the emotionally disabled

A poem book.

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18. Dracula (in celebration of the new movie!)

Honed fangs behind
sweet lips.  

Lips made to caress my
skin as they travel along
my throat.
So gentle he is,
For a monster

His tongue against my
jugular;
Heartbeats quicken.
Shallow breathing 
as his dark eyes
bore into mine.

"Take me," I plea, "make me into you."

You are mine...
His voice is thick,
laced with seduction
but also some sort of
tenderness.

His movements
careful
slow
calculated. 

He plants a 
kiss on my neck, 
fangs barely brushing. 

And I do not destroy that which is mine.

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