A voluptuous greyish figure’s silhouette
graced the balcony at Bienville Terrace,
as waving black hair and piercing violet eyes
glowed on a moonless autumn hour after midnight.
‘Twas Iris,
my seductress of the night,
femme fatale of French Quarter lore.
Voodoo queen of Creoles and Cajuns alike—
forever an immortal thirty-three.
Drinker that quenches her thirst
with a crimson stream that courses through
the veins of mortals such as you and I.
Soothsayer of the future,
fortune teller of lost souls
seeking that guided path hidden by destiny’s plight—
Historian of many generation’s hidden, dark past deeds.
I was a young twenty-two when I first encountered
my dark mistress of the unknown.
Iris spared my soul that first night,
seeing something in me I had yet to discover.
Creole’ by birth, sexual by nature, merciful by choice,
her body was a deep, dark olive tone,
with skin as smooth as silk.
She smelled of crushed flowers, and
her kiss was moist and sweet to the taste … like red rose morning dew.
Iris chose only a few human lovers over the passing centuries
(though she feasted upon thousands during that era)—
Only one man every two or three generations, which was to her liking,
did she share her zest for life,
that bewitching insight that enlightens,
and, of course,
physical lust for carnal knowledge that was ever so mortal.
Though it lasted for only a few short months,
Iris instilled in me a lifetime of worldly knowledge.
She taught me not to fear the unknown,
but to embrace it, and, in return,
I received an overwhelmingly opulent, decadent rush
from a plane of existence few mortals ever experience.
“That,” she said, “is the true path to greatness.”
Iris often spoke of immortality as being the loneliest of afflictions …
having to watch humans grow old and die—
to be mourned by their children and aging friends;
being a goddess in a god-less world was punishment for her sins.
Three decades have come and gone,
many tribulations have passed
as I’ve gotten older, and somewhat wiser,
thanks to my sweet, dark seductress of the unknown …
Iris of the night—forever an immortal thirty-three.
