Read Poetry: Blood Manner Panache, by Robin Carretti

Everything was playing so “Gusto”

Like he became Heavenly blood brothers

“Maestro” at the London Metro.

Having hotter than hell fling

But people were more than blood things

Feeling like a substitute or big “Hero”

What happens to some of them

they weren’t waking or O or B- cups


But a style of panache

The style of grace or disgrace

showing deeper how it cuts

like the “Reaper” all circumstances

Fewer but true redder romances

the evidence got flown away

but miraculous something has to give

Like a stewed “Hungarian Goulash”

miracles time for hot fetishes

You just felt eclat what a cliche these Vampires and

their maidens. With the raw bite of her bodice

styles were becoming. But a bigger blood manner

was moving toward her so risque

Dances storing more blood trances

of a repertoire

Their necks were suffocating watching another

lover was mating like a web server

“The Others” were sleepwalking deserter

Like another language takes over

a code talking nevermore

Back to life a style forming another soul

to capture, but the wrong type of blood

failure whats to prevail?

Like self-murder so red

Vampire’s attached bloody email

Some were at the spa-like looking wolf-like

howling that strip of a face peel

so habitually like blood uses

The best collection of blood choices

So mainstream another erotic dream

Like a style or seeing hot gesture

So popular stream forevermore

At the concert, he noticed who she was

Knock dead bloody Tis the holiday features

That maestro what style Panache

Like a french Brulee bite of toast

He was the hot bloody roast he

got her blood the most