Feast

Photo by Alyssa Hurley on Unsplash

You’d like a nibble of my fingers, and a gobble around my toes,

A bit of this, a dash of that, spare the little bones.

Save that for leftovers, to simmer over until pearly white and soft

A-me stock.

You’d like some of that, won’t you?

It’s absolutely fine, it’ll only hurt a little.

When it’s all said and done, you can insist that they are still there,

Please tell me that they are still there,

My buttered up brown fingers, with peach nail plates glued upon peachlike nailbeds

Gaunt toes, with their own harder nails and all.

Tell me they are still there.

So that I can have the courage,

To create phantom drawings on empty paper sheets

To stumble across the pavements in colds or high heat—

Doing this all and many more, with soft smiles

Because you’ll smile too

When you insist on such things, it’s what you do.

You will say it with such a conviction, that my lost appendages will regrow,

Then I’ll believe it

Because that’s what you do.

And I know I’ll adore it, I know I’ll have to

Because I love you, and that’s all I can do.

I don’t have the courage to love anyone else

Besides you

I know,

You wouldn’t be happy with just those

I can tell, and I stood corrected.

Only a few seconds after your melodies were over,

You told me that you’d like my nose.

You said you’d like it sweet and bloody—

For making bubble gums, you say.

So I let you tear it off,

Leaving a nose shaped hole

Where sticky burgundy blood gushes out.

Through my coughing and wheezing,

I can make out

Your lips making forming an oh

As you’ve made my skin chewing gum to blow.

Despite my chest beating with fear,

You tell me, oh you tell me

That my nose is still there.

How I look so beautiful, your little ephemeral angel!

It’s what you do

And I believe, yes I believe

Because I don’t have the courage to love anyone else but you.

If I don’t, then you’ll go

For another meal,

And there’s nothing more terrifying

Than having the courage to

Stumble across hard pavements

Create phantom drawings

Without you.

I’ll kneel by the altar,

Whispering ineffable prayers

Because that is what I do

For you.

I lie naked on the dinner table,

As you commence your final carnage,

Slowly, gently, lovingly.

You tug my legs and arms away from my center,

Indulging yourself on my nimble forearms and knobby knees,

Smacking your mouth eagerly, with soothing ease.

With a quaint silver knife, you carve red line across my abdomen.

With blood stained hand, you dig in

Then, you rip through my stomach

To excavate the contents inside.

I feel your lovely lips

As they caress my organs

Before ripping them through.

Nibble there, gobble there

Through a vision now blurry,

I can make out your fingers clutching my intestines,

Pale pink sausage-like strings.

Are you saving them for later?

Sparing the rougher parts for garnish,

And my bones for a nice me stock?

I can’t ask you, as it is too painful to speak,

Every nerve in my body rings and twitches incessantly

I only have the courage,

To hear the sounds of your voice singing between chews

About how I’m so beautiful.

My ephemeral angel,

You say between bites.

I can make out, your soft smile—

Your quick bites are now matching the sound of my heartbeat,

As she makes a final attempt at life.

Was that your intention?

I can’t ask, but only offer thanks,

For your sweet consideration

For your boisterous display of affection.

After I’m all but gone,

You’d gather the leftovers.

Tough skin for garnish,

Bones for a me stock,

My limp heart, and bloodshot eyes as keepsakes.

You leave red painted tablecloth with some remains behind,

On your way to other decadent meals.

I’m not surprised, that’s what you do,

But please tell me that you wouldn’t forget me

Long after the tablecloth dries.

I can only have the courage,

To imagine that my memory still lingers in your mind.

That’s the only thing I can do.

I am happy, at least

To know that I was loved enough to become your feast.