Do i care if you leave world war III at my front door, love necromancer?
My father whispers to himself all the time. I know a secret when i see one.
The mutuality of our feelings are a secret society.
A feeling with multitudes—yet so skinny.
I mimic you. I love you, you necromancer.

I don’t care if you leave world war III at my front door.
Fuel the fire with secrecy. Burn the cold with my sweater.
Do you shiver from fear or temperature?—
As romantic and poetic as this roundabout is, it’s hell.
Set me on fire, you always held matches but never lit them for my shiver.
I lost the battle and the war and my native tongue to you.
You shiver from fear, love necromancer.