when zombies attack

[shortfuseburnig]

spitting through the gaps between his rotting teeth,
he eagerly beckons you to rest upon his lap.
ivory bones outstretched and shaking,
cradling your head in his blue, wrinkled fingers,
you catch his eye between strokes
wondering whence it became as those fingers,
the hue of an evening sea.
your lips part, a rush of frozen truth filling the spaces
once occupied by rushing blood.

and as he circles your lifeless frame,
robes of the brightest white dragging across the floor,

your mouth quivers
forming a grin.