Turned

It is a night of sorrow, a song of death,
wolves vent their loneliness. The eternal one
awakes.

Darkness shrouds her deathly form,
an everlasting desire.

Her black hair cascades over
pale shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
blood streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.

Now a night of taking,
I awaken.