The Zombie

The zombie wakes

Begrudgingly leaving its bed

Bindings falling away

Dirt seeping from his eyes

As he recaptures the art

Of setting one bony foot after the other

Stumbling past the doorway with a groan

Down into the catacombs

Where lies his Treasure

The Elixir in the Holy Grail

His bare minimum consciousness

Delivers him to unto the sealed shelf

And he rips open the jail of his Ambrosia

A juxtaposition against the tenderness

With which he cradles the Vessel of Life

And brings it to his lustful lips

That craving

And finally I awaken

To that first drop of vanilla Colombian cold brew on my tongue


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