Poetry

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A Table for Two

written by: Mike Basile


A TABLE FOR TWO

At my feet lies a woman,

drained of all blood.

Her face I know well,

for her I once loved.



How strange it was,

she thought she could leave me.

But as I pulled out my blade,

it was her turn to plea.



Looking upon her corpse,

I can't control my excitement.

Envisioning what will follow,

is surely an incitement.



I begin my work,

for no longer can I wait.

My knife moves methodically,

Her body, I desecrate.



I begin with the hands,

which I used to hold in mine.

Slice them evenly now,

my intentions are malign.

(They should go nicely in white wine.)



Next on the menu;

the lips I'd never forget.

Carefully with my scalpel,

I sever them without regret.

(Now to sear them over this jet.)



Then into her skull,

deep, my knife, I sink.

Spill out the brains,

which, of me, used to think.

(Now boil until firm and pink.)



Peel back her lids,

and get lost in her eyes once more.

Then tear them out savagely;

she doesn't need them anymore.

(Their potential flavor, I can't ignore.)



I next take a hatchet,

to the legs around which I'd wrap.

Slice off their meat,

and hang it up by a strap.

(Insert garlic for seasoning to sap.)



Move now to the arms,

that once held me tight.

Dice them into cubes,

under this hot fucking light.

(Seems I'll be having stew tonight.)



Hack up her torso,

which next to I laid.

Separating ribs,

with each thunk of my blade.

(Now soak them in sweet marinade.)



Turn her back over,

set my plate on her spine.

Euphoria surrounds me;

it's now time to dine.



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