Vampire Muse

A cackle echoes in the darkness;
A witch on a broom flies past the moon.
I hug my coat around me, tight,
Walking through the alley.

My feet lead me into
A graveyard, realm of the dead,
Adorned with stone.

He sits there waiting, patiently,
With eyes of a predator,
Pale hand reaching for me,
Embracing me tightly;
My Vampire Muse.

We sit and speak of many places,
many different things.
I am safe with him,
He never frightens me.

His inspiration forms my words,
They are his link to life.
His inspiration makes me write,
My draw to immortality.

A cackle warns of arriving dawn;
A witch on a broom flies home.
I, too, must return, though
Longing for the night,
Its last close embrace.

I vanish… waking up…