Thirst Poem by Patti Masterman

The graveyard must adore you from afar;
How it craves your liveliness and blood,
Whispering its need for rare nutrients
From one untainted, both pure and good.

There's a vacant spot within its till
It's saving for one as special as are you;
Your cold heart would be its victory-
A monument; what sudden death can do.

It loves your mannerisms and your voice,
It pines for you like thirsty grass needs rain;
It won't rest content again, you see
Until you're well beneath it's heavy hand.