Sliding fingers over alabaster shafts, crevices and nooks catching at delving digits as they seek between the ****** ***** of remov-ed meat.
For before the bones the meat. And before the meat the scalpel, Running liquid through the tendrils with its clever carv-ed lines in the succulent, decadent dead.
The gore on the board. Seen in rivulets of scarlet, A tracery of cuts, Multi-layered and exquisite.
I taste the smell of this corpulent finery. Hands reaching into the layers, slick with blood pulling at the fat. Sleek and deadly I ply them, my tools.
For I am the butcher And you will eat my meat. Feast upon my carnage, And leave me with the bones.