Though my skin and my blood in the night may be frozen, onward I crawl
to your door, to your tower that sees me, signals and shows me the way.
Though I die at your door, by your fire I awake alive in your blood.
I’m unharmed but embraced by your arms at the heart of spiraling walls.
But by day you have gone, and I shiver and ache for night by your fire.
In the streets and the alleys below you are cursed and hated by all.
Distain for their cowardice drove me to seek your redoubt, out of spite.
While they fear you and blame you for plagues, I know you protect them withal.
When I see you tonight, I will show you my thanks—allow me to stay.
If you’ll shelter me still, can I love you and touch you gently tonight?
Before dusk, since I’m already well, I climb up the steps when I’m
called.
But this ivory-ebony stairway would leave even princes enthralled,
such as phrases inscribed here can’t hope to reveal or hope to embrace.
Though perhaps I may hint at the love to be found in the blood of a vampire.
With such thoughts in my head I climb up the tower of twilight as a
doll
that lives just to pose for you, thinking of nothing but pleasing your sight.
At the ledge of the belfry, where darkness then falls, in your wings I’m caught.
