And so the world turns, and this day arrives as it is want to do every year… On this birthday the thing that comes to my thoughts is that of those that I love, the lives we have… And so…
I cannot take credit for the story, for the words are that of my heart, and here are those words for which I am grateful this year more than words can really say…
She came home late in the night,
a crick in her neck, rubbing her horns, stretching her tail,
every bit of her succubish self tired,
used up, ready for nothing.
She came home to a dark house,
everything shadows, everything dark, nothing lit up,
every object two-dimensional and blank,
the same, but then there is . . .
She came upon a package,
all black, flat, and square, but a red bow, and so she pulled,
and the package fell away, showed a new shape,
still dark, but with a scent . . .
She came as she heard the notes,
saw with her fingers, caressed her Song, flat . . . black . . . on fire . . .
burning with need to touch, to taste, to consume,
to sex for all she’s worth . . .
Her lust, mind, body echoed,
alive with her Song, melting with Song—succubi consumed . . .
The clock struck twelve. “Happy birthday,” Song growled
as her red-tailed love came alive . . .
as, in shadows, alive, her love came . . .
To all of my family, to all those that I hold, love, hope for and more in every day always…
Thank you for the gift… always…