Pluck Me

I am the flower of ash,
The Lily of misfortune,
Will you pluck me from the ground?

Cover me in marmalade,
And prepare me for dessert,
I am the taste of the week.

I am a corpse flower,
Impregnated by the dead,
And their vanity seeps into me.

Every sentence is filled with you,
Every letter drips your name,
Yet the lifeless still invade and try to take me from you.