his body is bread,
made of dough kneaded
through generations
she knew.
               he sensed her cannibalistic  urge,
even before, from her irregular breath,
now, under her garter belt half untied
he feels
               a knife.
he knew she was
the exquisite red wine
matured in the
     wooden barrels in darkness of time,
      found only  on the table
angels dine.
her blood red
intoxicates even from a distance,
he desired the sweet and sour
of her tender flesh,
goosebumps infest like pox
when he closes his eyes
and imagine
licking clean the chalice
                         filled with her.
The jealous moon
looking down at them,
from her high perch whisper:
"You are made for each other
no doubt"