Guess who's talking?

Dear friends of Maria Dracula,

Can you guess the point of view of this poem of mine? Stylistically, I pay tribute to the great American poet Charles Bukowski.

But whose voice is it?

THE KISS

Dear Mina,

my beloved from seven mountains,

seven seas, and seven fields afar,

my nails used to screech

your name on the table of the universe.

My tobacco laughter

used to frighten you.

But now my cough couldn’t startle

the starfish at the bottom of the shark tank,

in the Venice Beach bar,

where I gargled scotch, as lampposts

conjured the gargoyles of the beach.

The moon in the cracked window

sent arrows of mist

into my retina of a thousand cats,

as I wrote you letters

on palm leaves in the wind.

I searched in my left pocket,

found the hole, in time,

and the locket with your auburn hair

tied to a chord of pain.

It led to my heart

of skulls, garlic, and fangs.

Like a Gypsy,

I searched for my destiny

into my palm.

Survival and solitude

was the reply of my jagged lines.

I rolled the cigar flickering on

on my face,

saw my cuts in the broken mirror

among glasses filled with licorice.

I thought of the dried corpses

I had left on pikes

in the mountains of Carpathia,

and turned to wolf, lizard,

goddamn phantom.

Yet for all eternity I gave you,

that bite you never returned.