Dracula
By Salwa Al-Neimi
Protruding, rebelling against the lips,
the long, pointed, ill-fated fang stared at me,
(in spite of awkward attempts to hide it).
Stealing adolescent glances,
I dreamed it pierced me, pushing deep in the base of my neck.
I bit my lower lip, flushed,
but not before blushing under its spell.
Yesterday,
Yesterday when he smiled at me, with teeth in perfect alignment
(dentistry can work miracles),
I turned my apostate face,
and squinting, pretended to watch passersby.
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