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the blackest gift

It is a night of dark desire, a song of darkness,
wolves vent their loneliness. The beautiful one
awakes.

Mist shrouds her walking form,
a timeless desire.

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

Now a night of new awareness,
I awaken.
heart