Nosferatu The Vampyre (Herzog, 1979)

I watched you, like a floating specter in the soured memory of my youth, faded, and make-believe.

I was found in the lonely black of your eyes. You lifted me from the inevitable decay of age, and held me close to your still chest.

Let me wash you in the waters of forever. The thought that your sun-soaked skin might warm the howling cold that whistles through my old and hollow bones is delight.

Your pawing attempts at beauty flake like dead skin, settling like dust on my rigid, atrophied body. I am blank now.

You won’t leave me. You are the flowers sprung from the cracks and fissures of dead cities. You are the eternal wound of love.

My breath is warm and fragrant. Let it drape over the cold dead of your sorrow. Let it be life from your lips.

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