A promise of purgatory

I won’t die if you do, but will never replace you,
 Nor do you, nor do you, will you?
 Promise me a purgatory, a middle ground of expectancy.
 A sepulcher inside a rock, by an unsettled ocean.
 Stripped and virile, there wait for me, as I will for thee.
 It's simple, it is not metaphorical, nor poetic. 
 Humble and unadorned, never feigned, nor adored.
 Unambiguously indispensable.
 Only my amour and scent keep, no other ever dare seek.
I will only lick you, taste you, bite you, scratch you,
 Drain you, stifle you, hold (on) you
 As the unique prey in whose flesh and spirit I can saturate
 My lifetime cravings. It's you, do you promise, do you?
 It's me, I do, do, do.
 No need of the suspended heaven’s blissful serenity.
 No urgency for the agonizing ecstasy of burning hell.
 A promise of slumber with you is the spell
 I exclusively need. No sophistications, nor extremes.
 Only reciprocal, eternal possession. Not maiming loss fears.

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