I dip the tip of the knife blade in,
slice the tendon around the joint and pull
back the tender flesh from my thin bones.
The table is always ready to be laid,
wine waits to be poured, conversation
on but a single word to flow unchecked.
How much should I eat at one sitting?
Should I save some for later, in case
later should arrive like a hungry guest?
Yet, I’m hungry now, and everything smells
so incredible I long to have a taste;
fat drips from the spit as I lift it to my lips.
My heart throbs as I wait upon your kiss,
each beat driving me to my selfish wish.
(March 2013)
