This is.... Your unrequited office love can go suck it: you don't get more unreachable love than for the dead
As the servant turned by vampire,
I am turned by you.
I adore it.
As the hypodermic pierces flesh,
I am pierced by you.
I adore it.
Lash me to the yardarm, set sail at the brewing storm
And still I will not be as sick as the sickness from which the poem's born.
As the priest prostrates to any deity
I offer myself wholly prone.
My love: temple to your heart of precious, glinting, stone.
The only pure thing is fallibility,
It offers no respite.
I adore it.
History collapses, memories fold, rain is hard.
Everything vacant and cold.
I adore it.
My love is tactile as colour; blessed and cursed
And my love will only matter in this unmeaning, undead universe.
As the comet tears into the black star
I'll rescue you from nightmares
My love: a dream where something in this fucked place cares.
