Pleasures of the Flesh

[Unpublished]

I have always thought that death has dealt me a different card from others, as beneath the huge pale ball they call the full moon I walk on ground that was once sacred. I find that these days I am unable to recognise the quick from the cold.
As I progress in a laboured fashion, absorbing the fantastic essence of this graveyard, I espy in the unwholesome darkness above a small group of sinister winged creatures, and strangely a colossal fear causes my bones to shudder, as these black carrion-stalkers take to the thickened air in a silent and graceful manoeuvre. However, presently I dismiss all this from my fevered mind, for my destination I have reached.
Her dress is of a most brilliant whiteness, and her hair, in contrast, is as black as ravens. She is beautiful. I think I may be falling in love, but then I think again, and realise that this emotion is nothing more than pure, unashamed desire. She dominates my every attention. I push my naked chest up to the wispy material of her dress, and feel her shapely form beneath. Then I kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips. Oh, how divine is this creature! And so cold...
I wish I had known her when she was alive.