If I could feel heat
she’d be the one
to start the simmer
in the blood I no longer have
coursing through my dead veins.
The flush on her cheeks
raises delicious possibilities,
ones I have not entertained
in all my ages.
Her scent is like no other,
not vile like humans,
not ancient like me.
Control is slipping
under the pierce of her gaze,
cutting me apart,
leaving me in shreds.
How long can her silky skin
withstand the ice of my fingers?
The ice of my still heart…
~Drake