Dead Girls Don't Smile

Dearest
Delia, on the sixth month, 28th
year I called up on your family at
406 West 15, brought modest gifts
in form of light fare. Grace was
so sweet, glowing with such
child-like glee. Her kisses placed
on my cheek told me. I made up my
mind to consume your daughter
right then and there (Her warmth,
her laugh, her body. Her youth her
lips her skin) and so formed a
pretense of gatherings, of
affairs. Received your blessings
Delia, when asked to bring your
daughter there. She picked the
wildflowers hillside as I, I shed
attire in fear her blood ever
stained. Through picking out
posies, cold cheeks oh so rosy,
she stepped in the manor she'd
rest in. Her blood ever stained
these wood floors. She tried to
flee vainly crying out your name
when she sensed the danger upon
sighting my worn frame. Oh how did
she kick, bite and scratch but
racing hearts will calm with
convincing touches slowing acts of
human instinct 'til all will is
gone. Still how sweet and tender
young Grace was without spirits.
Certifiably, as little more than a
summer's week I'd feast upon her
flesh, her organs, legs, her arms,
torso and neck. Oh such sweet
Grace. Her warmth, her laugh, her
body. Her youth, her lips and her
skin. If only 'gain. Rest assured
dear, your daughter would remain
entirely pure until the end of all
her shortened days.