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No Cross Left Unturned

de Abramelin

Darkened necropolis, midnight sharp,
nobody else will see.
A six foot dig, open the casket, there she
waits for me.
Her lifeless body, cracks and splinters,
as I start to raise her.
In eagerness I carry on,
In lust for my Stargazer.
Deterioration, rotting flesh,
violation of a fossilised wench.
A degrading thought to seduce a corpse,
dry reaching from a horrid stench.
Parting the thighs, a sickening crack,
festering hole open wide.
Enter my partner, close my eyes,
so cold and dry when inside.
Ignore the sounds that fill my head, the
crunching of flesh as I thrust.
Sweat profuses my body bare,
driven by bizarre lusts
Run my tongue across her mouth,
formaldehyde I taste
Dislodge my member from her hole
and head below the waist.
As I feast between her thighs, her throat
emits a deafening cry
A filthy claw grabs my head's back,
and rams it up her rotting crack.

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