10 June 2009

Making Love in the Meat Locker

It was blood ice and a kind of fog
that rolls down from a panting mouth,
The quick chill of saliva and human oil
against the atmosphere
Her hands against the metal shelves
and frost
Her hands sliding down the ribs, the flanks
of hollow pigs
our full weight in her arms
The scratching ache as she dragged her nails
through a hoarfrost of slaughter
The resonance of frozen concrete and how sound carries
when I turn my face to it
when I close my eyes against it
when I come

To eat the bodies of others is to eat death.

Please, we say,
more of everything, please.

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