Dead Pleasure

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My dead love
lying as motionless
as the table she's on
body white and cold
as the snow outside
my urges pulse through
telling me to do
things I shouldn't
to be on top of her
and stroke my loveliness
kissing her still lips
feeling her nectar
licking her dry flower
having her one last time
under her death dress
and in her dead body
not a flitch in sight
as my sweet drips
in her empty eyes
letting my pure white self
be a gift to her
she deserves it
for the pleasure
she let me have

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