The Mournful Vampire
“Some always spills,”
he says sadly of your
rich disappearing blood.
rivulet of blood
trickling… slender ravaged neck
pale breasts trembling… still
I should know never to trespass on your territory, Frank.
Oh gods, please do! 🙂
But it’s an interesting tension between the desire not to waste or spill a single drop of that precious elixir, and the eroticism of blood on tender flesh…
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