Nekromantik

Your love is crisp, and clear, and cold,
Brittle as the ash of old,
And flakes and lovestains from your sweet,
Unto your bleak overcoat do leak.
You kiss the lips that never care
And fathom deep in sockets, true love there
How many coffins have you pried open,
In search of your perfect love?
And when you lay entwined at night,
And passion alongside worms alights,
Mixed with perfume of bittersweet decay,
How can you then dream of returning to day?