Sometimes,
When I am troubled and alone;
I make my way into the kitchen
barefoot and naked
And pull out a steak from the freezer.

I boil a *** of tea while it thaws.
When it has,
I sip my too hot tea- spiced with cinnamon and vanilla,
And season the meat.

With pepper
and garlic
and salt
And then cook it in butter
To barely passed raw.

I place it on a plate of fine china
And set it on my dining room table
With no knife or fork
And sit in front of it.

Picking up the hot, soft meat in my hands
I tear into it.
Gasping against the heat,
Groaning at the taste,
Letting the brick dust colored blood
Spill down my chin-
Speckle my breast.

Sated and wet with beef blood,
I shower, braid and curl my hair, put on make-up and jewelry
And wear something soft and alluring.

I feel wild.
And the taste of vanilla and blood
Mingles on the back of my tongue.