I confess…the cleaver’s arc, the way the your gravy runs after.
The way it splits the pink, pleases me more than laughter.
You call it meat.I call it choir, Each vein a trembling note.
The knife my silent butler the blood a velvet coat.
I’ve memorized the rhythms:the gasp, the twitch, tween the thigh.
The way the ribs unfold…a lover’s last goodbye.
Oh, darling, don’t recoil, you bleed the same as pigs.
The only honest prayer is the one the butcher sings.
Rated for Mature(17+)
My Silent Butler
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Summary:
macabre
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