This morning I peeled your skin, naked
red flesh blood slithered along my fingers
to my wrists, scrutinising your veining
for an instant of distraction I followed
the fall of a plummeting drop,
onto my middle toe painted in pink I shivered
meticulously getting rid of the unwanted
that which my lips refuse to touch, orange
and white fibrous layers I will scatter
around the garden to keep mosquitoes away,
add to the compost waiting for them to exhale
phosphorus, nitrogen, potassium
let the roses blossom, perfume the air.
You will feed the vegetables I will eat.
A moment of reverence I inspected you thoroughly
salivating in anticipation of our taste your texture
the pleasure you might give,
not with hesitancy but with the slowness
dictated by gratitude and respect I approached,
my mouth to your body if you had eyes you would
have trembled in horror afore my vampirish intentions,
brewing coffee witnessing the abomination
made a gurgling noise as my teeth tore you apart,
I lost my elegance and swallowed
you whole without remorse as you are not
unique, there will be another of you tomorrow
and I will blithely peel his skin.
[Featured painting: Oh, My Darlin’ by Lesley Spanos, 2009]