The Witching Hour
Losing sleep, afraid of the beast I will become
Tossing & turning between love stained sheets
Consumed with passion; undefiled passion
Hungering for a love to devour: a fire I can consume
Howling at the moon, no sooner do I become a wolf
Chasing unsuspecting hopefuls, hunting love-drunk devotees
Dragging men into my bed, there I sink my teeth into their benediction
Lapping up milk & sweat during the matinee of friction
Lost within the witching-hour, to awaken with no recollection
Of the collection of men between my teeth.
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