A Bride Adorned with Inverted Flesh

I yearn for a bride, adorned with inverted flesh.

Whimsy temptation to drive a pin in your bones,

and grow drunk on the savory marrow you horde.

An IV filled with distilled vacillation seed

infects your fluids, so thick with validation 

until the tear ducts excrete my wallowing shit.

I force my umbilical cord into a slit 

so we can engage in this shared deprecation,

while expressive exhaustion demands you concede.

Moan in a chorus to a desperate chord,

for now you lust after my noxious pheromones.

You've become my bride, adorned with inverted flesh.