Draculas bite
Smoother than wine, and neater than whisky
sometimes pertruding , sometimes pouring
either way, it falls the same.
Thick and oily, my windpipes roaring,
even the color, a deep rich, silky satin.
With even the slightest puncture, glides past flesh and bone, in elegant fashion.
Her fear could never reach comprehend, as I pull back her hair in my hand,
tasting with passion.
My beloved, a feast, that is a table set for only one, this ferocious beast.
This feeling has me something frisky, darling, you’re sweeter than wine,
And neater than whiskey.
About the Creator
Natasha Collazo
**Studying Modern Journalism @ NYU **
Student @ American Writers & Artists Institute
Project: The diary of an emo Latina
Content and freelance creator
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Inquiries: [email protected]
Instagram: @sunnycollazo
Do all things in love
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More stories from Natasha Collazo and writers in Poets and other communities.
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 11 hours ago in Feast
Comments (1)
Gosh this made me blush! Red is my favourite colour and I love blood, so yeah, lol! This was a feast for the beast in me. Hahaha. Loved your poem!