Red lines appear as
I pull this silver blade through flesh
Blood dripping, oozing from the cut
Red valleys and redder rivers
Scarlet is the only paint I know
Allowing, of course, for silver
A lovely edging, with a dangerously
Wicked edge
Then you add fire
Flames of scarlet orange and yello
Licking, touching, brushing the edges
Lightly trailing against the surface of meat
Burning, cooking, melting
Delicious
This fire burns so deep it sears
It melts the very fat, hidden beneath
And then it's over
It's done, finished, complete
No more flames
But the blades are back
Slicing up the scorched flesh
Anyone fancy some steak?