Night Stalker

Night Stalker
his passing is a slither of silk on velvet, no more
his shadow, an amorphous imprint upon the door
no gods will stop his voyage to his destiny unknown
he is no more than a butterfly fluttering on stone
he is sure of his power as he stalks his prey
he is king of the night until the coming of day
he seeks the kiss of the innocent for his power
but will endure the embrace of the old and sour
no mirror holds his image for his eyes to view
through the night he wanders, doing what he must do
come dawn she will awake and think him a dream
his beauty no longer as enticing as it may seem
he returns to his day lair, a darkened room no one sees
he feels no sun, nor warmth of a summer breeze
he is called many things, most call him a gigolo
he is that sad apparition, the after hours gigalo

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