Whom The Necrophile Seeks To Defile

Whom The Necrophile
Seeks To Defile

I must be a necrophile
since you're the one
I'm out to defile.
You're flesh is still pink
and you still smell like jasmine-ginger
but your lips taste blue like it's the flavor
they might call The Ironic Injure:
the kind that you spit before you savor
and you embrace fully
'till you're as dead
outside
as you are
in.