Night Stalker

A bitter reality

Night Stalker

his passing is a slither of silk on velvet, no more.

his shadow,  an amorphous imprint upon

the door.

no gods will stop his voyage to his destiny

unknown.

he is no more than a butterfly fluttering

on stone.

he is sure of his power as he stalks his

prey.

he is king of the night until the coming

of day.

he seeks the kiss of the innocent for his

power.

but will endure the embrace of the old

and sour.

no mirror holds his image for his eyes

to view.

through the night he wanders, doing what

he must do.

come dawn she will awake and think him

a dream.

his beauty no longer as enticing as it may

seem.

he returns to his day lair, a darkened room no one sees.

he feels no sun, nor warmth of a summer

breeze.

he is called many things,  most call him

a gigolo. 

he is that sad apparition, the after hours

romeo.