Ron KoppelbergerPostponing spring bridles the hardheaded grace he shared with madness was risking the invisible picture. Fine Balm lay separate from the challenge of failure and substance. He had harnessed the frequency, the contract between purchase and evaporation, the wont of essentials and the likeness of a ghost. He had become invisible, evaporating by the second, a foot his eyes and then his legs, his wicked temper gone to sedate comfort.
Fine had showered and abandoned his need, his need to drink the essence of life, the blood of darling socialites and matrons in memento. Vampire fellowship, cosmopolitan endurance and specters in velvet, he had simple evaporation like harlots’ in secret.
Fine stifled a chuckle and danced in reviving awards of opiate sweet. He had gone invisible to the glare of the stars and the space between here and there. Patrons, lawless and wandering barefaced, intrigued his mind and in the end Fine gazed into the mirror seeing nothing. Embracing places of provision he saw the harbinger of suffering vitality and his sacred union with blood. Messy tears and hallowed promise expressed his prosperity as he fussed the hour of deadlock, he would taste the defeat of his failure with a vampires desire.