Cassandra Willoughby
The Night Is A Blindfold
(Dedicated to Tiffa)
Dusk looms, dusk is
Dusting a labyrinth
Of mean streets,
Awash with dirty rain.
Assiduously dressed,
Long black coat, glasses
To disguise vulnerable eyes.
Hair black, tied back.
Depleted by melancholia,
Desperately searching in
The anonymity of blind-alleys,
Silhouetted by a bloated moon.
Long fingers thrust into pockets.
Mind vaguely aware. Lurid signs,
Skewered meat and everything
To take away.
Then he saw her, stumblingly
Drunk, pretty-pretty, easy meat.
As the moon hides behind a cloud,
The night is a blindfold.
Her hot blood
Was pleasantly sweet.
Her hot blood
Quenched his thirst,
He silently thanked her.
Beware mortal men
And women, the legend
Of the dead-end street.
The night is a blindfold
And your blood is a feast!
Page(s) 12
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