Artwork by River Reid
Solitary shadow shelter, he secures his lips to my neck
Sleeping still: softening, stiffening, shuddering silently.
Calm, gentle. He suckles my skin like a newborn calf.
I wake late, a wine-red wound decorating my throat.
Maybe by tonight, the space will be clear so he can
Restake his place. A love-bite tattoo forever there.
How much of it will he let me show the world?
Anti-Edward Cullen: blood-stained-sex obsessed,
Freshly turned and curious. Vampirism looks best
On pale, skinny men. He’s used to avoiding the sun
And its synergetic spotlight.
He’s angry I relish in its warmth.
Avoidant, fearful of light. He’s nocturnal, thus.
I sleep as the sun groggily wakes. He’s nocturnal, thus.
I saw him once. Slicing the throat of a pig,
Lips to her neck. His smile didn’t falter
When he caught me staring. Was I
Scared? Not surprised, at the very least.
It’s hard to pinpoint sentiment in the thorny
Thickness of traumatic experience, in the molten
Aroma of blood. He smiled, still. Buzzing, silent.
One day I’ll find him nailed stiff to the floor of
A coffin. Wooden stake set still through his heart,
Breaking a rib or two upon impact.
I wonder who will be saddest for his passing:
Me or the pig? Who deserves to feel saddest?
Reminiscing, I will find a splinter warmly stuck
To my skin; scarring, scaly, red with blood.
Allison Hendershot revisited several poems from her time at UArts and edited them to fit her current style. In doing so, she realized how much she's grown as an artist and hopes Quiddity readers enjoy what she's written!