Love Letter To Meat

Assignment 2 - Write a love letter from the point of view of a crazy person.

Dear Meat (you are the most dear!),

Oh dear. I laugh.
Where were you today?
I laugh
so I don’t cry.
Isn’t that what they say?

It was a terrible, dreadful, 6 course meal.
Meal of gourmet, abysmal, vegan, refuse.
You weren’t there.
Must be out
fucking your steakhouse whores.

That’s OK.
I suppose.
I swallowed
some of the loveliest hazelnut crostinis
drizzled with crimini mushrooms
displayed on the daintiest of china ware
silver spoon stuck down my throat.
Dear God. It was raw, too.
I know that must make you jealous.
You’ll never be safe left raw for your lovers.

Oh my. I can’t stop laughing.
Please forgive me.
Thinking of you.
Your delicious skin satiating my mouth.
To taste you is to know
the insides of your soul.
To taste you is to know
the insides of my soul.
We are indistinguishable. You and me.

I saw you from afar…
Lying limp in front of my brother.
I whispered to you, for only myself to hear:
Let me save you!
Let me take you
to that safe spot
inside of me.
Let me take you
straight to my small intestine
where you can stay awhile.
But I avoided you and I silently suffered
like parted lovers are fated to do.

I saw them protesting you the other day.
I screamed with the rioters.
But I screamed for you!
“Meat! Meat! Meat!”
I had to leave quickly, fearing what I might do.
Fearing what I might do for you.
The water from a high rise apartment air conditioner
dripped
slowly onto my pining tongue.
I stood for an hour,
or two,
swallowing the dirty liquid,
imagining it was you.

Today!
I found you.
Abandoned.
I smelled you first.
Your siren song
takes me,
makes me,
its seductive lyrics.
You! All harbored in your paper bag
next to the dumpster.
Even the dirty, hungry man on the street
passed you by.
Fool. FOOL!

Now I pause to sigh.

Unabashedly, my mouth,
having been lonely for so long,
let out tiny drops of drool
as I reached for you.
I attempted to pleasure you slowly
grazing your once juicy body.
You were so dry, shriveled.
Aged beyond your years.
I put you in my mouth
when the sharpest
and sweetest
dagger of my life
entered into me.
Quickly
I succumbed, letting you abuse me with your maggot corpse.

I hear they found me
passed out on the street
clutching an empty paper bag
that I would not let go
screaming,
“That’s my missing love!
I will not retreat to your forces!”
And that is why they put me in here, where
cheap imitations of you clutter the steel trays, where
I cry and I do not laugh.

I suffer for you
Alone
In this imprudent, congested place
where others claim they’ve had you,
where others tell me how you taste,
but I close my ears
and I know,
you belong to me, to me and me alone.