Friday, February 9, 2018


My body, under his fingers
finds its true form,
meat on bone. A slab
of flesh on a table.
His hands dig and push
more meat tenderizer 
than tender manipulation.
I lie here thinking of sinew and bone and muscle.
Being flesh and wondering
about the spark that ignites, the breath that flows
the ideas made word and thought
in the meat on the table.