Stiff Swain (And A Deranged Mind) Poem by Melissa Hurst

I confessed
to our world
that Death shan't separate us
nor halt relations
that were between us
when you were of fresh flesh.

The odor of your passing
is an unbearable one.
But I cover you
in the musk you once
basked in.
Why does Death
have to be so vicious
to such beautiful flesh?

Your lips are removed
of the passion that
once overwhelmed me.
You look upon me
with a blank stare.
Why doest thou
look upon my frame
with such empty eyes?

Do you dare provoke
the swiftness of my angry hand?
Why doest thou cheat me
of a compliment?
Your tongue does not reply
with suave slander.
O, what should I give
to wake you from this
eternal slumber?

My lips search your neck
and my stomach
halts regurgitation.
'Twould be rude to vomit
during passion play.
And by caressing your phallus
I await a response in vain.
The chill of your testicles
disappoints me because memory
reminds me of how they were once warm
and held the nourishment I lustily devoured.

Should I return you to the filthy ground,
turn 'round and travel home
and live life in absence of your kisses
and wishes?
Or should I clothe you after we bask
in lukewarm lovemaking and conceal you
under my bed?
My heart yearns to allow the aroma swallow
my house whole.
And by that I will be in constant remorse,
reminded of how lovely and sweet-smelling
your flesh was.
And when disgust devours me,
I shall unite with thee - warm and whole.
Soft will replace stiff and happiness
will remove bitterness.