my-savage-garden

[Written as the Vampire Armand] I awake with thoughts of him, unburdened as though his love has stayed with me and penetrated me wholly. I am woven into the pattern of his richest tapestry. I arise, seeking him, the willful tug of my heart leading me to the lounge chair where I find Lestat seated. Dressed in a poet shirt and leather pants, the typical romantic vision, I am reminded how Dora loved me in ruffles and lace. A thin leather strap wound round my hand as I straddle his thighs. Seated there, my lips purse as I stare into his cobalt eyes that collect the colours of the room, I want to touch, to kiss to play but I mean business. I coil

The picture is fading. The light, once eminent, once profound, falls to darkness; casting long ominous shadows on the side-walk. I stopped for a final photograph; in awe of the radiant beams of colour that brightened the underbelly of illuminated clouds and watched as the sun set and pulled its perfect light from an azure sky. There will never be anything more perfect than that moment and now that it is gone I realise that it will never be repeated, never be replicated and even as the sun does set, it will never shine against the clouds in the exact same way. Each time is a gift. Each precious sun set is meant to be cherished and treasured. I