smooth and silent...
it comes in the nightmares of us all.
gliding across flesh
as though a wave of fear drove it on,
on beyond the edge
of our sanity.  peeling back the layered armor
that fragily falls away
to bare our blood to the vampyrs of the dawn.

the wound.  so clean
and smooth that we never dare wash it.
the blood.  so dark
and hurried that we only stare at its flight
from the domain
of the tendons, nerves and calcium construct
that shall crash
to the earth as our hollow veins touch the first light.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)