“It’s over” she croaked, choking back sallow tears,
To her lover, aquiver with dread,
“Your perversions have worsened, affirming my fears,
I’ll enable you no further, Ned.”
Brushing her cheek with his clammy, grey hands,
Gently stroking her dull, thinning hair,
Which promptly fell out into wet, moldered strands,
As his eyes met her cold, lifeless stare.
“Since last spring, when I killed you, increasingly clear
Has the answer become, sweet Amelia,
For, now that I, too, am dead, technically, dear,
It appears we’ve cured my necrophilia.”
When they kissed, his thin lips fell off into her teeth,
And her jawbone dislodged from her head,
But ’twas plain as the maggots a-wriggling beneath,
Long their love would live on — though undead.