Your unrequited office love can go suck it: you don't get more unreachable love than for the dead

 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.