Santa Claws

Does the real Santa have a taste for blood?

The moon was full
against the black,
a magic lull
of zodiac.
The icy quiet
filled the air
of sleeping children
everywhere.
He donned his suit
of crimson red,
his well planned route
was just ahead.
His taste for blood
arose desire,
a desperate flood,
a sure vampire.
His only vice,
as bat, was he,
a sacrifice
he could not flee.
A Santa true,
an elf that's fat.
His pleasure grew
like nothing flat.
His sharpened teeth
with which he gnaws,
were hidden 'neath
this Santa Claws.

(28 lines)