Necrophilia…

How I do love that of a fresh corpse,

Not yet hard, not yet rigored,

Tight is it to enter its orifices,

With my tongue, my finger and other organs of length,

No fear of being pushed away, before it turns gray,

I can make love to that of a woman, man, girl or boy,

So it is sick, to that of others, but they need not know; not am I coy…

So you can keep whatever it is you want in life,

Just leave the dead ones to me; I can use my knife,

And feel the interior of those I use, just before I ready them,

For the service & the views…

No, I am not herein sick, I do what I need, I love them,

As they do me,

How do I know this, how do I know they love me?

Why by the look on their face, when in the coffin they go,

A smile, a grin, a permanent shine, before heaven gets them,

They become mine, no more fear, no more worry, I go really slow,

I try not to make them uncomfortable at all,

You must see, that they need me, forever and for all…

              © ed – 3/30/04