Robovamp

Blonde and beveled,
lithe and pneumatic,
the clichéd image
of a teenage boy's
rough libido at play,
she stalks the dark city
in chains and in leather,
in high lace-up boots
to gather her eager prey.

Her titanium skeleton
is sheathed in faux flesh.
Her face is a mask
carved from a dream.
Her pulse and her breath,
and the light that resides
in her teal-shadowed eyes,
are both less and more
than they seem.

Given most men
are sixteen-year-olds
at the unfulfilled heart
of their sexual plight,
her suitors are legion,
they queue in long lines,
they shiver and sigh
and throw back their heads,
to savor her sharp overbite.

As she drains their life force
to power her own,
to fuel her fine form
and feed her stark mind,
she never asks why
some return to her side
and are willing to die,
addicted to fright,
tranced by her final caress.

Though she often wonders
as dawn stains the sky
and the sun cuts the night
with its fiery blood-red crest,
just why her creator,
the one who designed her,
who built and refined her,
was her very first victim,
willing as all the rest.

Appeared in Hungur #2