What would blood taste like to new born undead?

Like full plump cherries
Their stone hearts torn out
Their carcasses left shredded down the middle
Obscene and tempting to any eye that notices
Rotting on their own sweet tears
Staining and branding the world
Even after they are devoured

Like rich tingling honey
Stolen from a colony just before winter
Condemning them to starve without a care
While closing their eyes and scraping
One last flavor off the back of their teeth
Do the blood-starved spare a thought?
As to whether workers of futility truly know despair?

Like chocolate.
Freely given from a lover to another
Dulcet and sinful as bringing lips together
Like promises whispered back and forth
That lost their meaning, eroded by life
And were made to completely disappear by their demise
“Until death do we part?”
They scoff.

When could anything ever last that long?