Literature
Bang, Bang
It was just a pound of flesh,
small, bruised, unimpressive;
there were better cuts at the supermarket.
"It's so soft," she said, frowning,
blood seeping out like juice
as she pressed a finger into it.
I gasped, holding my breath
and clutching my chest
when she did it again.
"I know it's not much,
But it's yours,” I said,
hoping, wishing, wanting.
She let it fall to the ground,
crushed it beneath her heel, and asked:
"What else have you got?"