He's the sound of rushing water near my window in the dark -
by M. Teresa Blaylock
The Muse who sings his secrets to my soul.
He's the flicker of a street-lamp watching couples in the park -
A shiver in the midnight hour's toll.
He's the sweetness of seduction when he finds me in my bed -
The incubus who dances through my dreams.
He's the scent of blood and roses making chaos in my head -
And ev'ry bit as twisted as he seems.
He's the salty taste of teardrops like ambrosia on my tongue -
The finely-crafted sacrificial knife;
He's a mem'ry of an echo never here, yet never gone -
The terrifying ecstasy in life.