My Necrophilia

My Necrophilia emerging from tall oak planks black robes hung to her heels and with frailty, soft and kind the door was closed small gravel stones lightly pressed she reached a black gate sudden fanatical sparks my overpowering grasp smothered the thin, the pure muting and paralysing her voice convulsing twitching the scent of bile her diminishing heat ensnared me catching hurting a final breath to cool the sweat my passion killed rain drops and robes shone under streetlamps the subway held my stench a reminder a hammering gust of stale electric cables smells like guilt.