The night is whisp’ring to me; I am scared
To hear a voice so sweet and smooth and low
Come from the darkness here, and yet I know
Whatever happens now I am prepared.
I bid myself to listen, though the sound
Stirs ev’ry drop of blood within me now
And I can scarcely stop to wonder how
This wicked, lovely thing has had me found;
He whispers my name sweetly; I can’t speak;
I just breathe in the scent of his warm skin,
and yet I will not let him eas’ly in
because, despite all that, I am not weak.
I cannot breathe until the thing has passed;
The demon pulls himself away at last.