First Taste

The mother spoke your name
 Across her lips,
 And kissed the children on the forehead.
 She turned down the lamps and closed the door,
 And you came out then from the closet.
 We had seen you once before,
 Projected monstrous onto movie screens,
 Stalking outside under window panes.
 We understood you made your living.
 Oh, where you do you come from?
 Oh, where do you go?
 And at the bottom of the staircase,
 Hiding quiet under basement noise,
 You kept ready all your ropes and twine,
 Tasting for my ankles.
 Oh, where do you come from?
 Oh, where do you go?
 Dawn came slow, and
 We awoke
 With your fingertips
 On our eyelids.
 I am older and awake again
 In the hours before morning,
 And I have learned you are a formless thing
 Undeserving of my fearing.
 Still my skin
 Speaks your name
 It's hard to take
 Away the first taste.
 Oh, where do you come from?
 Oh, where do you go?