The Lovers

a tale as old as time

The Lovers

BEAUTY

His arousal comes in the smell of 
my blood.
At night I dream of his teeth
ripping into the blue veins of my
wrist
feasting
wild
matted fur smothering porcelain
the animal unleashed.
But I do not scream
because it might be love
I cannot tell
too young to know such feelings
too innocent to want.
His eyes tinged with red
lashless
haunted on the nights
when a full moon overlooks
the castle turrets
the silence broken by his howl.
I place my hand over his heart
where he can feel my trembling
and think
Would I love the man?
The creature
bullied by isolation
has naught but me
and my sympathy
to tend to the 
self-inflicted wounds
the bloody claw marks across -- 

BEAST

The sharp ends of my body 
the claws and the teeth
force me away.
A kiss is a terrible thing to want.
But I cannot hurt her
so I hurt myself instead.
For she is the gentlest flower
in the rose garden
the lightest breeze stirring
the petals to the ground.
How can a beast waste such precious
beauty when he has for so long
been starved of it
been left with
nothing but a mirror and his own
reflection: distortion, ugliness. 
Then there are shards of glass
across the floor and blood
blood everywhere.
I smell her blood and shudder.
Will she stay forever
in these ghostly rooms and 
lonely halls
music from nowhere playing
inside her head
magic whispering through her
dreams...
One day after the snows fall 
I will lose control
and take her
and the sheets will be red and torn --

BEAUTY

-- his face, jagged with loathing.
The strength he shows conceals
I hope
gentleness and
a heart that beats for me.
His looming shadow is my blanket
the tendrils of the firelight
touch the rags he now wears 
the faded silver thread the only relic
of his former princedom by the sea
his former life
his former sneer 
across a handsome face
his former pride in being human
Adam...
Now only Beast.
The sharp prickle of tears and 
the longing
to envelop him in my 
arms like a mother
the soothing words spoken
to break the tension 
of this awkward romance
entwining
like our thoughts
two ill-fitting bodies
our minds waiting --

BEAST

-- and I will pray that it will only 
hurt for a little while.
Damn this false life
where nothing is real except for
her, and she is as insubstantial as the
morning dew upon the lily pads
evaporated into mist
I cannot capture.
Her voice
sweet as birdsong
will not rise against me 
in fright or in anger
though she be my prisoner and I
may do as I please
for a man has his needs
and the primal urges of a beast
sting with the 
demand for satisfaction
my own body a cruel puppet to
this simple want
this animal psychology.
The throbbing weeks pass in
slow torture as I see her
from the corner of my eye
perfect
waiting -- 

BEAUTY

-- for the right moment.

BEAST

-- for the right moment.