Meditations on Vampyrism

By Art Is Bread

Based on the Prompt “Teeth”

The sky wine red

Erected in the center of the poppy fields beneath your thumb, an effigy from yesteryear-

a wicker sanctuary for the vessel of my soul.

There are two Suns above, they cast their deafening glow in all directions

like cubs calling to their mother.

They dry out the season’s harvest.

Let the fruits of my labor ferment in the heat.

I cover the holes in my hands and feet

with gloves and boots so as not to be seen.

At night I unwrap them and find that I can still

make a fist, or hold a hand…or write a note:

I am not a bohemian cigar!

It’s ironic, you must invite them in so that they can bite you-

change you.

It’s bodily rapture.

When teeth meet flesh

who do you hold in your heart?

Maybe I wanted a taste,

just to feel something warm.