It is the metallic taste upon my tongue
The scarlet reflection in a dying sun
Soft pale skin where fangs have plunged
Into a roadmap of veins through which it runs

It is the blackest red gloss that stains the night
Red eyelids when closed to the touch of light
The darkest day to make love to your sight
The lust that drives us and gives us the right

Hold shut your eyes and look for nothing beyond
Pull closed the lid, clamp the latches and lock them
Drift out to darkness in your ebony coffin
Dream of strength and will to hold you aloft and..

Wake up to taste it upon your lips

Marquis Zillah Voltaire

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Slyphian, in the year 87 MA.