the butcher

He says no to my mask. My facade flirts, flatters, feigns fornication. Myself watching from a foxhole, seeing if this fish will bite. He laughs, says I need to be slapped, spanked. He smiles. He says no, but he is still here.

I talk of splitting skin and he dips his chin, a fantasy delicious enough to smack lips. He says he’ll cut me to the bone. Under the skin there is a silence I cannot reach. If I am to be sliced, I want the blade to be serrated.

I eye him as a child on tiptoes peers through the rhythmic fog of her own breath on a glass pane. I read the list of flavors over and over and over as he stands holding the scoop. He slaps my fingers as they extend and it only excites me more.

My center is melted. I must keep it safe. My candy shell is not candy. You. I’ve chosen you to offer myself to. Bring your scythe to my creamy well. Dip your blade and lick your fingers. Scrape my surface so there is nothing but stillness. Cast me as smooth as the mirror you pass by in the hallway.

You cup my thighs and shoot through me, an empty channel. My mask fallen, shattered. The shell of myself crumpled in the corner. I kneel on rice to worship at your alter, my throat so full of tears I choke.

Running your fingers along my scalp you cinch my hair, twisting my neck to the side so sharply it cracks. See? I didn’t tell you which side. I’m proving to you how empty I can be. My neck exposed, you descend and gorge. The sinews, the arteries, my blood spreading like a shadow on your floor without seams.

My throat is tight. My lips closed around as much of you as you are willing to offer me. You say no because I’m desperate. No because I’m entitled. No because I lay myself at your feet. No because I would like you to stand and welcome me in. You say no, but you also don’t say no at all.

If it pleases you, saw off my hair because I do not want you to. Flay my shoulder blades so I can be a butterfly. Your sledgehammer collides with my ribs and I tumble to the bottom stair. It is cool on my cheek. I feel peaceful. There is no more me. I’m soft as a sundae, holy as muslin, a cats back arching under your nails sharp as razors.

You cradle my throat firmly till my cheeks flush, till my eyes bulge, bigger and more beautiful. I convulse and melt into you. My meditation. My master. Man who distills mess and mystery. When you grip your fingers close in on themselves, the skin, vessels, and bone submitting, yielding space.

You say no to me, but I also say no to myself. With my throat ripped out I can’t speak. Blindfolded I can’t see. Clothespins clog my nostrils. My mouth gagged so I can’t say, "come, take my hand.” Let’s annihilate me together.