The Dance
I am under his spell.
He catches my falling body,
He sweeps me around the floor,
We dance as though we were gods.
The hallowed hall echoes our steps,
As the ghostly violins play.
Silently swelling in crescendo.
A maelstrom of passion,
The room a whirling blur.
My bloodstained gloves clutch his rough hands.
The lights dim, I am under his spell.
He lets me fall but catches me, I am under his spell.
I stare into his dark eyes.
His fangs slide into my neck, Quartet crescendos violently
Then suddenly die away
As do I.