Imagine this:
Pages waiting to be
written. Clothes waiting
to be stained. Our
sheets are silk.Come to bed, darling.
This morning, I saw the
butcher slice into a slab of
meat. Flayed open, visceral
and bloody, dripping out, I
thought of us. You were
made for knives, after all.Were you aware that
thieves get their hands
cut off?Come to bed, you told me.
Come to bed and we’ll make
kingdoms from each other,
you told me.Shaky moans and empires built
through sin. Look at yourself.
The killer of giants taken apart
by this: skin.Little butcher boy should
have sawed through
my ribs, past the curve
of my breasts, and you’d have
found nothing. Just a cage
holding a monster that
hungered.Imagine this:
the intimacy of betrayal,
the sex appeal of a traitor,
the inherent romance
between a man and a
carcass.Come to bed,
darling.bathesheba’s nightly routine || Aisha R.
