by T. K. Kenyon
Cats may have nine lives. Demon Lovers not so much.
I met my demon lover
In a bar down by the docks.
It was late at night, but I felt no fright
Of his ivory skin and raven locks.
We danced and drank and sang old songs
I drowned in his black eyes.
He was brooding, dark, and demon-marked
Not at all like high school guys.
Oh, cold-fleshed vampires warm my soul.
Their long lives are so sad.
They brood and mourn, with conflict torn
’Tween their natures good and bad.
He said he’d come next dusk to me,
As a vampire bat, he’d fly.
So I ope’d the glass, threw back the sash.
For my lover who’d never die.
I lay in bed, in black lace, gowned
And waited for the bat.
The night air was thin, and he fluttered in,
But I forgot about my cat.
Oh, pale-faced vampires flush my skin
When they ride upon the air.
But immortality breeds complacency
About things they should beware.
Slayer pounced and bit my love’s thin wing
And flipped him ’round the room.
The vampire screeched, but his life, it leeched,
And so he met his doom.
I fought my cat for his tiny frame
But that bat was really dead.
Immortal life can be such strife
Until a cat tears off your head.
Oh, cold-fleshed vampires live their lives
Bereft of love of woman or God.
They brood and mourn, until by a cat torn
Their wings from their furry bod.
Into her carrier, I shoved my black cat
And then, to the vet, we did trot.
In Connecticut state, when a bat, she ate
A cat needs a rabies shot.
Oh, pale-skinned vampires seek dark girls,
On blood, their dark urges fed.
But girls like cats, and cats like bats
To play with until they’re dead.
Original Fiction © 2012 T. K. Kenyon
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