Portrait of a Vampire

His hair is black, his flesh is cold;
He's tall and dark and lean.
His eyes are deep and dark and clear
With an unearthly sheen.

He lives in darkness, shunning light;
The sun would mean his death.
But does he live? He has no pulse
And, in his lungs, no breath.

His teeth are even, pearly white,
And yet, they're not quite right.
He does not eat what mortals eat.
It is not bread he bites.

He stalks her and she does not flee;
She finds him mesmerizing.
But if she lets him seduce her,
Will she again be rising?

Does she imagine what he is
Or is her mind o'ercome?
Does he have her in his spell?
Can she escape her doom?

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