I felt your fangs in my neck, penetrating my white skin. Your body anxious and hungry for my blood to flow. You sucked and my red liquid filled your mouth. My sweet taste and your intoxicant perfume, the scent of graveyard flowers, of earth wet by the pouring rain. How could you be dead if you smelled live nature? How could you be dead if I could feel your cold desire grow with each drop of my blood? I just left myself go. I’m yours. Drink me. I’m your wine.