The blood between my legs

Had you salivating

Like you hadn’t eaten in years

And I was a scotch fillet steak

Cooked medium rare

Seasoned well with salt, pepper and fear

Your favourite dish

Served with a side of underage and innocent

Drizzled with balsamic *******

The kind of meal that forces silence

In a room full of people

Fresh blood dripping on your lips with

Eat bite that you took

A sign of a good piece of meat

A sign of it being well cooked

When you finished you didn’t wipe

The grease across your face

You worn it with pride like it was war paint