by Lisa McCourt Hollar
|Photo courtesy of DaStafiZ|
Against her lips, his kiss was cold,
His breath like ice, a hint of mold.
In her lust she noticed not,
The decaying taste of rot.
Into her lover's arms she fell,
Not caring that he rose from hell,
An undead creature, born to kill,
A monster spawned at Satan's will.
She knew they lied, when said he's dead,
So dug him from his graveyard bed.
Her tears of grief woke him from his sleep
She knew t'was magic took him from her keep.
She kissed him deep, to warm his lips,
As he reached for her with fingertips
That crumbled against her at his touch,
Still, she welcomed his enclosing clutch,
He took her there, beneath the moon,
Planting a seed within her womb.
Consummating evil foretold,
As her belly, with death grew cold.
She reaches for her lover's hand,
Her life forfeit, her soul is damned.
The corpse beside her, once more dead,
A feast upon which bugs are fed.
The baby grows as her life wanes,
Feeding off his mother's pains.
Then as the child tears through her womb,
She understands at last her doom.
Bestowing a kiss with her last breath,
Upon the moldy lips of death,
Necrophilia meets him there,
Among the flames of Hell's despair.
Word Count: 211