Your Scent Catches Fire

I watch you from behind this cold shadow,
your head nods inside life's stuttered alarm,
soon, you will become my precious plaything.

Wisps of dark foam slip from my teeth as I wait,
hunger is tormenting the thin frail lines
that my form creates upon the dark light.

Hair, flowing like my greed, eyes, snapping
imagery, nose, breathing - for now at least!
Mouth, open-closed-open, skin, wrapping thoughts
into tiny curled balls of wet veined looks.

I will have you before the night's over,
and stick your shrunken skull to my laughter.
Feel my presence brushing against your leg,
know that already your life is wasted.

Your scent catches fire and I pounce quickly:
in between shocked gasping realisation
of me deep inside your terror filled pleas.

Licking and biting - it does you no good
as I engulf the memories you had
while I mourn the game's end with blooded drops.