The Feast

A Feast

A grasping piece of flesh
and a haggard breath against the ear rough suit to silken gown
grabbing of the dead cells numb to their familiar grope
the meat on the table speared through with the carving knife
as the nubile juices leak through the heat permeates the wood
and the smell is rich and erotic a hand is pierced above the skull
held up by steely structure and determination to encase
the tomb of reddened swollen flesh the mesh of the hair against skin
grating and tearing inwards against the softness,
a rash raises up. a garnet glass of red celebration
stomaching the mass of dead muscle and tissue that sits legless on oak and white.
their stretched guts becoming heavy with the effort of this greed, this feast of flesh
that was a living, unconquered beast. The penetration of the past decade, blood
once again dripped onto white membrane the passageway obese with swelling, the
grated insides used for satisfaction and the feasters begin to weaken and sweat
the hand pressing into fragile bones and the cricking cracking of the ligaments
the column subsides they sit, spent, with boiled blood
down their bibs their insides ache with bursting tendons
as their bowels throb with pleasure as the moment of euphoria is spent
as the haemorrhage remains unblocked to welcome his return again, and again,
And again.

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