Cerberus

It was nigh
the witching hour
I conversed with
vampires and incubi,
swapping yarn
and incantations,
whilst Cerberus slept
fitfully, his centerhead
purring opoponax and
red letters.

I was imbued with
those letters;
passions ancient and
primal.
They slid like honey
through his teeth
to make my eyelids
heavy with forsaken
defenses.

As shadows crawled
to take his place beside
my own white limbs
I trembled, knowing
too soon, he would
leave with me only
liquid muscles,
jagged, threadbare
dreams.
And with bated breath
I awaited his velvet mumblings
to seep into me again.

The witching hour comes
and goes without him.