Who I Am

soot dirty foot pounding down down down down onto concrete pavement sidewalk marked colorful chalked hard ground the other foot held high jumping up up up up to the sky azure-filled sun shine with closed eyes tight shut hopscotch

While it might seem strange to say this is a love poem, it is indeed a love poem. You are a dark beauty Gloaming A floating reflection An image cast of perfection At last here Rippling, surfacing For this mere mortal earthling To worship As stars blaze to ignite As pinpoints of white Cease to be bright As your blackness fills Kills Thrills The night

I'm working on this horror story. I intend to possibly add more details to describe the surroundings in this first part, but I just wanted reactions on how it is going so far and any suggestions people might have. A slick, sticky oiliness pervades my skin as I perspire profusely, making me all the more uncomfortable in this deep, dead tropical heat. I'm not acclimated to such high humidity in my native St. Louis, Missouri. I recline in the village circle, while one of the inhabitants, an elderly man barely dressed with cracks and wrinkles traversing his body, is relaying some folktale or other superstitious nonsense about one of the creatures around here. Madagascar houses some of the most unique prosimians on the planet, which was the impetus for me to take a vacation to this godforsaken hell on earth in the first place. "Aye-aye is death omen. He visit in night and he point his long middle finger to you." Barely stifling a laugh, I inquire back, "He gives you t