03-17-2021, 01:22 AM
From grief to lust, a flea’s hop,
and a plague is planted,
the dead are forgotten, merely bodies
yet a man in rut is only a body
in search of its opposite.
The necrophiliac’s impulse isn’t nostalgia
but a circus leap over grief
though the lack of corresponding heat
should give him pause.
Grief is not hard-wired in like Lust’s daughters
but a daylight succubus, happy to give way
until lust fails. Then back he comes,
smiling like a skull without a jaw bone.
and a plague is planted,
the dead are forgotten, merely bodies
yet a man in rut is only a body
in search of its opposite.
The necrophiliac’s impulse isn’t nostalgia
but a circus leap over grief
though the lack of corresponding heat
should give him pause.
Grief is not hard-wired in like Lust’s daughters
but a daylight succubus, happy to give way
until lust fails. Then back he comes,
smiling like a skull without a jaw bone.