The Feeding

It was about love. It was about survival.
Stumbling into her room when
she mewed in the shrunken hours
of the night, her mouth's soft ring
a hungry animal, searching, lips wide
for the cinnamon moons, doors
to hidden springs of sweet, pale sap
pulsing inside me. Oh, I was a cheap lover—
open 24 hours, ready to meet her thirst
at a moment's call, even as the first thin
fingers of dawn slid through leaky blinds,
gray light, a vampire hovering,
the trail of cream from her cheek
trickling down when she was full
and I could sleep—
I could sleep like a dead woman.

Copyright © 2008 Michelle Bitting All rights reserved
from Good Friday Kiss
C & R Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission