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“Started with a kiss,” you wrote, “this winter
of change and debauchery,”
which, sadly,

more of us don’t get to write; the writer
being more repressed than most warm bodies.

Still, Sir Francis Varney and Carmilla
were born from the fear of carnal knowledge

and so were you. Yes, hashish and vodka
blur lines. Yes, there is a vulgar language

even the most repressed can speak, even
you; when the winter wind sings a welcome

at the door and pine wood burns in the fire.
Still, if I’m the erotic key, you shun

me; sex-mad puritan. If I’m freedom,
you fear me; one more blood-phobic vampire.