Dancing Near the Fire: Part Two

This is part of a Vampire Challenge. For more details follow this link: http://alucardsrose.blogspot.com/2009/09/vampire-challenge-2009.html

This collection of inter-connected gothic poems is under copyright protection by the author.


Dancing Near the Fire: Part 2

Juliet. I whisper her name with satisfaction, savoring the sound.
Juliet.
I ask myself, am I her Romeo?
When I had my arms around her, I could feel the warmth of her breath, the fiery heat of her skin, the moist, warm sweetness that was the inside of her mouth.
She almost drove me into a blood lust.
Juliet... am I your Romeo?
Me. Armand…well Arnold Fisher to be precise. Arnold … a
name now lost to me.
Silly me. I laugh.
Who ever heard of a Romeo already dead?

I have not been called Arnold, my Christian name, in several years.
That part of my life is now a distant memory.
How silly I was.
I remember staring into my bathroom mirror, wishing my pimples would go away.
Now my skin is flawless, although I may never glaze upon my reflection in a mirror again.
To see my own image, I must look upon the still pool of rainwater, collecting in a puddle.
I am like foolish Narcissus, happy to see my own reflection by the waters of the river.

I remember how foolishly romantic I was.
I wanted to be John Lennon, loved by my own Yoko.
Make love, not war! Give peace a chance!
In my old life, I was obsessed with non-violence.
It was more than an idea, or a passing fancy, it was a life choice I embrace with my heart.
Ahimsa.
I considered myself friend to all animals.
I refused to eat meat, even going so far as to boycott leather.
Most days you could find me, passing out flyers in my rubber sandals.
Fight the power!
I even refused the wild honey regurgitated by the flower-loving bees.
I was a hopeless romantic.
Now I am a predator.
I hunt to survive.
I hunger for the fresh, salty taste of blood.

I almost bit Juliet.
She was so soft. I wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, feeling the faint pulse of
blood flowing beneath it.

I smelled her first.
I was hungry.
I was hunting.
I was unaffected by the cold rain,
or the winds that shook the trees.
I started a fire, not out of need, but out of loneliness.
I watched the untamed fire lick the small branches.
I watched the blue and orange flames
dance.
I wanted to feel human again,
lulled by warmth,
and the beauty of fire.

Then I smelled her.
I caught the scent of lilac soap,
mingled with sweat, rain and her
unmistakable human scent.
I didn't want to scare her.
so I kept my face turned towards the fire.
But I entered her mind.

It was deep like the color Indigo.
I could feel sadness, love and passion.
Her emotions were wild and hot,
like the fire burning,
or the wind blowing the rain.
In the darkness of her mind, I could
feel poetry.
I drew it out, strand by strand, until
it became a tapestry of sound,
her soul's music, mingled with my own.

I bewitched her.
I helped her embrace her wilder emotions,
dissolving her inhibitions, one by one,
letting her slip into a more primal state.
I let her enact her dreams.
As she danced near my fire
I was enchanted. It was I who was captured
by her shaking hips.
I felt more than hunger, strong in me.
She was beauty,
she was energy,
she was free.

I joined her dancing.
I celebrated her freedom.
I was enticed by her green eyes.
I loved her black hair, stained with blue hair dye,
bluish whenever she tossed her hair.
As she twirled, and stomped,
my eyes caressed her curves,
lingering upon her firm breast,
her shapely hips, her long white neck.
She wore wet blue jeans
and a v-neck sweater.
A pentagram hung from a chain around her neck.
I knew it was not silver,
I hate silver.