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A gothic poem.

It is a night of darkness,a song of dark desire.
Wolves vent their loneliness.
The thirsting one awakes.
Wisps of death shrouds her pale form,an eternal desire.
Her midnight hair cascades over translucent ivory shoulders,and her full crimson lips part slightly,to taste the red tears streaming from the pale flesh beneath her.
Now a night of ectasy,
I smile vaguely.