In the silence of your presence,
I have spent the whole morning pinning over thee,
intoxicated by the scent of your brunette hair.
The lazy morning sun bathes your alabaster skin
in delicate rays of soft saccharine light as you sleep
peacefully, unaware of the undead desire in my heart.
Like a moth drawn to an open flame, my wish to be
sired to your heart draws my body closer to you,
I simply cannot help myself.

It took but a moment for the flames of this undead
passion within my heart to warm our cold bodies.
In all these years, these feelings I thought long slain
rose again, reviving this troubling hope.
Your kiss was the healing magic
that brought the cooling hands of the wind
and the soothing touch of the rain.
Bringing about this beautiful desert bloom
in the middle of my persistent drought.

Amid a dire world, you are a sight for sore hearts
that do nothing but bleed. Over the many lonely centuries,
all I have feasted on is apathy, feeding my malnourished heart
half-dead prayers as I offer empty sighs marching onward.
Yet, when I kissed you, my lips began to pray in earnest again,
reciting old psalms as a born-again holy man.