Poetry often overshadowed fiction during the 18th century, so I decided to add poems into The King is Dead. This is one of the first poems, written from a vampire's point of view.
A devotion of body and soul
Wait, my love, for the moon to rise,
Your breath, hold fast til break of night;
Await my kiss and do not sigh
For I come out by evenins’ light.
Your supple skin is pure and soft,
A warmth to lure me close, and oft
I dream to touch and to caress
Your neck’s faint bend, where I may rest.
For my heart aches and pounds in time,
With the rhythm of your pure heart,
And with my lips I reach to find
The very place our bond does start.
And with a sigh, our souls do touch;
My lips will part, and without much
You give to me what I most need:
To me, you live; for me, you bleed.