I don’t know what it is about you, zombie girl,
but I’d let you worm your stumps in
the soils of my shoulders, press me close
till your melon flesh oozed into mine.
I’d nibble upon the bits that crumble,
watch you dissolve beneath my sigh as
a sandcastle in gusts of April’s wind.
Zombie girl, let me bury myself in the
rot of your belly, wriggle in your meat and inhale;
let’s kiss, open-mouthed, sweet and putrid,
with our drunken-larvae tongues entwined.