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NECROPHILIA 
 
 
 
 
NECROPHILIA 
 
Void of the ecstasies of Art 
It were in life to have lain by thee, 
And felt thy kisses rain on me, 
And the hot beating of thy heart, 
 
When thy warm sweat should leave me cold, 
And my worn soul find out no bliss 
In the obscenities I kiss, 
And the things shameful that I hold. 
 
My nostrils sniff the luxury 
Of flesh decaying, bowels torn 
Of festive worms, like Venus, born 
Of entrails foaming like the sea. 
 
Yea, thou art dead.  Thy buttocks now 
Are swan-soft, and thou sweatest not ; 
And hast a strange desire begot 
In me, to lick thy bloody brow ;