A melody for Beatrice

As he turns to see the lack of lines

Without any poise of shine

She brings to him a song of dreams

And puts his mind at ease so it seems

Satisfying a blood thirst for killing

Demons that run rampant in a thrilling

Tale of discarding ghosts, witches, and insanity

Sparda in a lustrous calamity

O'look upon his face, a devil's only disgrace

Is his weakness for salvations only grace

A young woman with pale skin, translucent

In the open light of daybreak, a voice so dulcet

She gives to him sweet honesty

No apology needed in all discovery

Black leather serving as second skin

The traces of her face so thin

Lack of lines

Without shine

Powdered in the room behind his desk

An air of ancient electricity between them

A taste here and there, do you need to ask?

Password needed to begin anew

Missions accomplished in the rains dew

Words and religion does not compute

Their battles end up in silent dispute

Lean long legs she has

So achingly sexy does she have to be so crass?

A little more fight, a little more spark

To satisfy the bullseyes mark

Straight into the perpetrators heart

So show him how to use it, Beatrice

She thinks, she acts and begins to count thrice

O'baby he cries, as he pumps two more rounds

into deadly foes to be found

Dark sunglasses against pale blond hair so long

And she doesn't even wear a thong

Thank god for miracles, cried Dante.

My mother in her prime would scold me thus,

For such attire seemed unfit.

Black leather, Black wear, was it so

Thus unseemly for the Prince of Darkness

To dress his mother's lovely image so unfairly?

Traces a line along her face

Lack of lines

Without any shine

His light fingers touch the soft spot of lips

Heat and fire between the two

Ebony and Ivory do crazy flips

In the hardness of his hands

Wielding Alastor and Force edge

A wet dream to a demons imagined land

Words of wisdom have no meaning

In the light of day

Have they nothing to say?

Traces along her celebrated face

Nothing in the way of lines

Without a decent shine

Without a doubt she comes to him

Every day when dusk thins

Let me show you how baby, he chokes

Flipping his mighty sword out in multiple strokes

O'come on this is her borrowed devil hunter

The lines on her face were none

Her hips descending in the open thunder

Giving her demon a run for his money

Satisfaction sounds so funny

To describe the plain and simple truth

Could he ever be so uncouth?

O'never never she sighs

A melody for Trish, Singing like Alastors sparks

Blue-white heat in the glowing dark

And the traces along her face

made by his fingers

Refining no disgrace

Her lack of lines

A kiss on Beatrice without any shine


The sounds of scribbling could be heard, shattering Dante's dream, waking to see Lady sitting at the small desk by their window, making those scribbling noises.

"Lady" Dante groans and is half awake now, his eyes straining to open and attempts to wipe the sleep off his eyes.

"Hmmm..yeah?" Lady continues to scribble.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Writing a poem."

"Huh?" fully awake now, he sits up on the bed, naked, the blanket covering his most sensitive parts.

Walking over to his lover, he looks over her shoulder to read. "A poem….eh, hmm, a little strange and naughty even."

"Stop reading it, I'm not done!" Lady smacks her hand down the piece of paper she was working on, making a loud noise, startling Dante a pace back.

"Okay okay, geez, so sensitive! But come on, Lady, its 5am. I still have a couple hours before I wake again. Come back to bed, hmmm?" coaxing her with a murmur against her Ebony hair, he kisses her neck for more persuasion, "I'll make it worth your while"

"What? You'll let me choose the next set of demons we fight? I get first dibs?" Lady raises an eyebrow.

"Something better" Dante raises both eyebrows and grins.

"I doubt it." Her eyes half closes, and then walks as if she were in a dream trance towards the bed leaving her pages of half written poetry lying atop the desk, the wind picking up from the window to blow them into the chilly atmosphere outside, towards the morning sky.

The last bits of ink plastered on the Ivory sheet, with words of love and the future uncertain…