The Dead Poet

I am your dead poet.

Your romantic writer,

I can transform kisses into verses,

And make sure it rhymes with-

your pesky, little eyes

unaware of your demise

you are now literature to die for,

literature to ride for

the type of write who never lies whore.

Let me steal your poems so I can recite,

what lies beneath-

your nonchalant strides.

Oh how I wish I could be dead poetry,

And maybe by then your lust will revive me,

but for now I'll do my part

and bludgeon you with my art, and--

climax the core of your palpitating heart.

I am your dead poet,

So let me bid you with a kiss.

Necrosis of trust,

Push me as you thrust

Death has never felt like such a bliss.