Quick Letter to Henry – Sinful and Spooky Erotic Poem – Bane and Angelina

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Dear Henry,

I am continuing to work on Letter 52 – I am also still re-editing my first fifty letters to you.  Thank you to my blog readers for your patience.  Having custody of my granddaughter, makes it difficult to write on a regular basis.  I should have a new letter finished sometime next week.  I wanted to post a spooky and erotic poem which is published in Justus Roux’ anthology, Tales of the Paranormal.  I also recited this poem at Jamie Joy Houck Gatto’s event in NOLA, Eroticon 2002.

Bane and Angelina

Inside a castle far away the Prince of Darkness sleeps;

Locked with chains to a dungeon wall – a lady fair he keeps.

His soul is starved, his name is Bane, he’s a Vampire from legends told,

His lust is hot, his blood is thin, and his heart is icy cold.

Two nights ago when the moon was full he met his lady fair

On an empty street in Paris with white flowers in her hair.

Her name’s Angelina, her beauty glowed beneath moonlight,

With his eyes he hypnotized and drank her soul that night.

Bane doesn’t feast on human blood; but he feeds slowly on one’s soul;

He dines upon a lady’s love and the beauty which she holds.

He slowly drinks this woman’s soul, her spirit, and her vitality,

He parts her lips and takes a sip of her divinity.

Angelina’s a vision, a lovely portrait, one might say,

During the daylight hours she tries to get away.

Bane’s a handsome fellow; a charmer, one might speak,

She can’t escape his power for he keeps her soul so weak.

For two nights he’s idly feasted, made love to her a hundred times,

And each time he enters deep within, he draws upon her lifeline.

Angelina cannot resist Bane’s power, his charm, and his masculinity,

She melts within like winter snow when the season turns to Spring.

When she moans with pleasure, when she screams with utter fright,

She feeds him more her power and gives him more her light.

Angelina remains imprisoned, pressed naked against the wall,

She dangles weakly from her cuffs as the sun begins to fall.

When darkness veils the evening, when bats take wing this night,

Bane rises slowly from his coffin with a sinful appetite.

Angelina shivers, her body quakes against the dungeon wall,

Her breath rate starts to quicken, her bosoms rise and fall.

“Please, Monsieur, spare me?” Angelina faintly pleads;

But Bane shows to her no mercy; he grins at her with greed.

Into her ivory skin he digs with his razor sharp, fingertips,

Clawing deeply into her soul, drawing it upward between her lips.

Mouth to mouth he inhales Angelina’s light

Devours her heart as it beats furious with fright

She can’t escape his power, her sex drips vulnerable beneath his control,

Bane sucks upon her ripened fruit and sips with hunger upon her soul.

He probes her with his fingers, twists, and twirls with sheer delight,

He sucks upon her swollen breasts on this evil, wicked night.

He stabs her with his manhood; he thrusts into her his sword,

He devours her with greedy lust – this dark and needy Lord.

Angelina shudders… Angelina moans,

Angelina quivers… Angelina groans.

Sweet and Sour gather, Bitter and Sweet engage in dance,

Pain and Pleasure chatter, Dark and Light romance.

Angelina cries when she kisses his thirsty lips;

Bane’s lust inhales her soul as he takes his final sip.

Angelina’s spirit seeps slowly into him

Dissolving his icy heart which barely beats within.

All the stars and cosmos twist and turn above;

Bane’s no longer wicked, his spirit’s filled with love.

“Don’t leave me, Angelina,” He whispers to her desperately;

She barely has the strength to speak, her bosoms slowly heave.

“Don’t leave, my beloved,” Bane cries as the night gives way to dawn;

He truly loves this mortal one, now soon she will be gone.

Angelina had also fallen in love with this dark and evil man;

She couldn’t resist his tongue – nor the touch of his hands.

Angelina whispers faintly with her last breath of soul,

“Goodbye, my dearest Bane,” she exhales sweet and slow.

Waiting for her is another world, a sublime realm, both dark and light,

Soon her soul will vanish somewhere between the day and the night.

Angelina softly sighs, it’s the last sound from her Bane will ever hear;

She departs this world, roams anew, as daylight climbs the hemisphere.

Bane’s heart’s feeling heavy, tears of sorrow stroll down his cheeks,

Glints of sunlight threaten through a window in which it peeks.

Bane doesn’t retreat for cover; he remains, a victim to the light;

He prays for death, his heart’s forlorn; Goodbye, Prince of Night.

When the Angel of Death meets him, Angelina’s by his side

With a leash and collar, and desire burning in her eyes.

Bane no longer has the power; Angelina’s the Mistress in this world,

“Come, my pet!” She orders, with a toss of her auburn curls.

Sometimes, if you listen closely as you stroll upon the Paris streets,

You can hear them walk close behind with their ghostly feet.

Towards the moon she saunters, Bane follows close behind,

Two lovers roam in a distant realm beyond all space and time.

Bane and Angelina live together, forever in eternity

Two as one – beyond the sun – beyond mortality.

When you hear the wind howl – When you feel drops of rain

The two above are making love – with pleasure and with pain.

Author, Mia Malone-Jennings

mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 47 – San Francisco, Mr. Shrink Man, Submission, Romance and Unexpected Surprises

mia loves henry miller

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 47 – San Francisco, Mr. Shrink Man, Submission, Romance and Unexpected Surprises

I’m writing this letter on 6/13/2012 at 10:37 a.m.

Dear Henry,

“I don’t care who the artist is, if you study him deeply, sincerely, detachedly, you will find that he and his work are one.  If it were otherwise the planets would be capable of leaving their orbits.” –Henry Miller, Art and Outrage

I have returned to my artist loft today.  I’ve been working on a very large, existing portrait for the television mural project, which I have been working on for numerous months.  It is almost complete.  I’m proud of the work that I’ve accomplished so far.  As I have been painting, I’ve been listening to James Patterson’s, The Women’s Murder Club, Volume 1.  The setting of this mystery novel takes place in San Francisco, one of my favorite cities to visit.  It reminds…

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mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 46 – Small, Unplanned Set Backs, Passion, Surrender, Sex, and Missing You, Henry Miller

mia loves henry miller

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 46 – Small, Unplanned Set Backs, Passion, Surrender, Sex, and Missing You, Henry Miller

I’m writing this letter on 6-5-2012 at 1:13 p.m

“Why not accept the challenge of the Spirit and yield? Why not surrender, and thus enter into a new life?” –Henry Miller, The Time of the Assassins

Cover of "From Your Capricorn Friend: Hen...

“Good luck! Keep writing and painting – the only salvation in this cheesy world.” –Henry Miller, Letter to Irving Stettner, Stroker Magazine, Thurs. 4/5/1978, From your Capricorn Friend

Dear Henry,

I have missed writing to you so much!  I haven’t been able to write due to working night and day, around the clock, to meet a couple of previous art deadlines.  My art show in Maple Grove, Minnesota was a success.  For the past several weeks, I’ve been continuing to experience severe headaches, resulting from three bulging discs in my neck, as well as severe TMJ, and advance…

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mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 45 – A Dreamy Dinner with a Handsome Detective, and a Gun in My Lingerie Drawer

mia loves henry miller

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 45 – A Dreamy Dinner with a Handsome Detective, and a Gun in My Lingerie Drawer

“And what is the hero? Primarily one who has conquered his fears.  One can be a hero in any realm; we never fail to recognize him when he appears.  His singular virtue is that he has become one with life, one with himself. Having ceased to doubt and question, he quickens the flow and rhythm of life.  The coward, per contra, seeks to arrest life’s flow.  He arrests nothing, to be sure, unless it be himself. Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or as heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly.  Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end.  What seems nasty…

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mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 44 – A Bitch in Heat, Kinky Collars, and an Erotic Dinner on All Fours

I am reblogging my first collection of Letters to Henry Miller, via blog, as I finish the last letter in this first collection of erotic letters written to Henry Miller. This review of stimulating letters will end with Letter 50. Once I finish editing my manuscript and prepare my book for publishing, this first collection of letters will be removed from my blog web site Mialoveshenrymiller.com and transcend into a book. Once this is complete I will begin writing, Mia Loves Henry Miller, Book 2, beginning with Letter 51 – Thank you for all of my readers support.

mia loves henry miller

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 44 – A Bitch in Heat, Kinky Collars, and An Erotic Dinner On All Fours

I’m writing this letter at 3/27/2012 at 11:53 p.m.

Dear Henry,

“Among painters as among writers there are those who stick to their guns, who follow the scent like bloodhounds, as it were, as there are others who sit like birds of prey on some imaginary limb or ledge, ready to pound on the happy accident which will lead them to some unknown, undreamed of destination.” –Henry Miller, Henry Miller, The Paintings of Henry Miller; Paint As You Like and Die Happy

I have been painting very long hours, which has consumed most of my last few days and nights.  I didn’t get much sleep last night.  I have two days left until I need to deliver my art work to the gallery.  I will be writing you this letter in tiny spurts…

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mialoveshenrymiller – Letter 43 – Salacious Sounding Hooves, Pony Girl Boots, Leather Muzzles, and Pony Walks at Dawn in the Park

I am reblogging my first collection of Letters to Henry Miller, via blog, as I finish the last letter in this first collection of erotic letters written to Henry Miller. This review of stimulating letters will end with Letter 50. Once I finish editing my manuscript and prepare my book for publishing, this first collection of letters will be removed from my blog web site Mialoveshenrymiller.com and transcend into a book. Once this is complete I will begin writing, Mia Loves Henry Miller, Book 2, beginning with Letter 51 – Thank you for all of my readers support.

mia loves henry miller

mialoveshenrymiller

Letter 43 – Salacious Sounding Hooves, Pony Girl Boots, Leather Muzzles, and  Pony Walks at Dawn in the Park

I’m writing this letter at 3/18/2012 at 9:42 P.M.

Dear Henry,

“Every novelist must start with empathy and with a great curiosity about people.  In many ways, those qualities are even more important than language – important as language is. Henry was fascinated with people – with the nuts, the clowns, the destitute refuse of life.” –Erica Jong on Henry Miller, The Devil at Large

When I begin each letter, I often daydream of you, still living in Big Sur, getting your large stack of mail, filtering through it, and imagining your eyes light up with surprise and elation when you see an envelope from me.  And, I fantasize that you are genuinely excited to read one of my letters.

We had a long day, yesterday.  For a majority of…

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mia loves henry miller – Letter 42 – A Shopping trip to Victoria Secrets and Another Fun and Kinky Party at MJ’s

I am reblogging my first collection of Letters to Henry Miller, via blog, as I finish the last letter in this first collection of erotic letters written to Henry Miller. This review of stimulating letters will end with Letter 50. Once I finish editing my manuscript and prepare my book for publishing, this first collection of letters will be removed from my blog web site Mialoveshenrymiller.com and transcend into a book. Once this is complete I will begin writing, Mia Loves Henry Miller, Book 2, beginning with Letter 51 – Thank you for all of my readers support.

mia loves henry miller

mia loves henry miller

Letter 42 – A Shopping trip to Victoria Secrets and Another Fun and Kinky Party at MJ’s

I’m writing this letter on 3-11-12 at 4:04 p.m.

Dear Henry,

“When I say friends, I mean friends.  Not everybody can be your friend. It must someone as close to you as your skin, someone who imparts color, drama, meaning to your life, however snug and secure it may be.” –Henry Miller, A Trilogy

Our clocks sprang forward by one hour sometime during the night – Daylight Savings.  Mr. C and I didn’t arrive home from MJ’s party until after 2 am.   I had to get up at eight this morning to get ready to take my mother out for breakfast for her 70th birthday.   Afterwards, I’ve been so tired, that I have been dozing in and out of sleep on the couch all day, after working and…

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