Last evening I fell for a vampirenWith brooding black circlesna bleeding young livernBeautiful body of mortar and bilenWith lovely grey eyelids that long to retirennDreams of an old room nwith white plaster windowsnand ghosts that would come as they gonnBut patience is daunting and after a while nHis nerves start to tingle his body perspiresnand reaches for old woundsnhe threw to the waternwith letters to mermaids and small sunken linersnnow dressed all in algae so green and so lovelynWith mothers in nightgowns asleep in their quarters.nnIf I were beautifulnsupple and touchablenWould you linger to suckle and lie in my bathwater?nnStay, stay, staynPogroms they are prancing like pirates to pillagenStay, stay, staynPogroms they are vampires bleeding my villagennTill everything's cotton and dry and the valley's like snownHe sings like a matchstick with wolvesnby the firenand old prairie cradles that creak like a choirnhot coals upon old wounds nhe curses his fathernwriting songs for his nfuneral pyren