My friend Crystal is incredibly talented.  One day she will write the next great vampire novel.  In the interim, we get to enjoy some great poetry just in time for spring.  The second stanza has me in poet envy…  why didn’t I write that?

Ritus of Ver (Rites of Spring)

Spring whispers

in my ear tonight,

tells me it is waiting,

brushes my arm with warm

fingers and races

through my hair.

The caress of Spring,

the memories of Summer,

when the heat would rise

and I would bloom.
 

My sweat-slick thighs

sticking and sliding

across the vinyl back seats

of borrowed cars.
 

My hair twisted

catching in the grass

on the nubby edges

of dirty blankets.
 

The moon blotted

out by crisp, dark hair

shoulders pinning

me to the earth.
 

The boys became

werewolves

when the sun

went down.
 

Pulsating pelts of fur,

growling

tearing

sticky trails drying

on my neck

and thighs.
 

Spring murmurs,

you were a vampire

calm, pale

lapping every drop.

(c) Crystal Tabor-kosak