I feel the trace of nails against my palm
as I awake I am anything but calm
What is this woman, this awful fright
that’s taken her liberties upon this flight?
She’s frowning and fretting over the lines
chronicling the heart and passage of time
Her eyes grew wide when she reached my thumb
does she think I’m daft, does she think I’m dumb?
That’d I’d not be careful where my teeth were sinking?
That I’d not be discreet with who’s blood I’m drinking?
Well met, my kin, my dearest, greatest granddaughter
I see your thumb bears the same ring, one of your father
I know you’re in that place between fascination and fear
Yet I crave conversation, not sustenance, if you’re willing to hear
So put aside your predications, my dear, sweet lass
And indulge the storyteller on this long, boring pass
©2013 Spiritwind Studios
for Daily Prompt