Janette and LaCroix, They

She.
So pale.
Luminescent.
A chill of breath, a breath
of tombs.
Dark embodied.
A cool danger.
I want her.
I love, I love
her hunger
for me.

He.
So pale.
Too dark to be fire,
Too cold to be flame,
yet too hot
not to burn.
Smoldering pyre.
I want, I need--I . . .

She looks into me,
dark eyes reflecting my dark dreams,
a mirror of distant secrets.

He drinks me in, looks
through my own eyes and whispers
of how my darkest desires
first were his.

February, 2001
Cousin Shelley
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