see you're obsessed with poetry and the grotesque, that kind of stuff
think yourself deep for finding beauty in blood, call trauma a sonnet if it bleeds enough
so it's no shock you adored the idea of cannibalism as a metaphor for love
something so pure, so soft turned violent and greedy in your hands
you claimed it beautiful, two becoming one,
sacrifice and devotion a seasoning of life, just table salt
and you took the name of black widow with pride, thought it made you a romantic
i suppose you forgot how the metaphor works, like those secrets we shared in your attic
the idea of love within cannibalism comes from the sacrifice, it speaks of the act of giving
the selflessness of the eaten and not the hunger of the eater
when being devoured is a gift, not a theft
yet you insisted the desperation to taste me was care
you consuming me was not love but me allowing it was
I let you devour me down to the marrow in my bones
let you lick the veins clean and the blood into your cup dripped
i thought it was an exchange, could have sworn in iron ink i spelled your name
thought i tasted your soul when we kissed, oh how naive of me
you let the metaphor consume you much like i did you, much like you wished someone would too
you became obsessed with the obsession of it all, craved to be craved
but devouring someone’s heart doesn’t earn you a place in it
it was love when i laid down on the plate
but please
don't call it love how you licked your fingers clean
to my ex that called himself a poet but couldnt understand the most basic metaphor for love
