Small shape of our death, with loving care
we nurture you, scanning our own mementos
in your plump tenderness: in your eyes, hair
or hands. Frail little being that must enclose
more than yourself. One day you will grow to be
like me or me or me. Even your allergies
are identified. We shall harass you
with our tall and sacrilegious
gods. This is our final opportunity
to survive. It is my future you will reconstruct

in your grown-up life. Clutching our hungers
we make dreams for you, part love and part
cupidity: inching ownership further
till your mind is patterned to our warped hearts.
Turn away from us, child, we are vampires
wailing: Remember. That I may not entirely die.
And forgive us the grasping appetite
that manipulates love to stay undead
for we fade like shadows till our absence
is forgotten, unless you hold us in the light.