Necrophile's Love Song Poem by Colin Pickett

How coldly the orifaces of her soul burned,
yet I thirst, hunger, and yearn for the fire
that was, and is now muted by desire, decay
and sins of the flesh.

Deaf ears drown my cries, and opaque eyes
reveal the true state that was rendered soft
and cold by fate. (Or perhaps true love)

My power breaks the bonds of death
as each heartbeat, breath, and wave of
ecstasy nullify whatever purity was and
is now intensified by dreams from the
Land of Nod.

Bloodless wounds open and stay that way
within my mind. Far away is my
childhood, filled with snails, nails, and puppy-dog
tails collected in an old shoebox under my bed,
where now dust and dreams play gayly
upon the reminants of a young boy's workd.

The sinewy counterpoint of Bach and Vivaldi
pour from my passion into
the soulful abyss of a young miss, beguiled
by dollar store candy, fairies, and the
merry meetings of Disneyland. How sweet
and pure, only now that the end has brought
us nearer to a new life.