I’m the pull apart type of meat,

the kind that could never remain idle in the animal.

One you let sit out and rot, left for the birds of the sky.

I’m the fall apart and reattach myself to the closest carnivore type of meat.

Wish you never took a bite kind of meat,

Bloody and marinated in cut burning citrus, bittersweet and relentless.

Freezer burnt out and wrapped up in plastic.

You’re the in between teeth kind of meat,

the red gum generator, toothpick breaker.

Rare and malleable, the kind that loses form on your tongue.

Carved out from sacred animal and butchered to a beaten tender rawness.

Held closely by a refrigerator,

sat down on a plate with parchment paper.

Never leftover, I sit just a little closer.

You’re a higher grade, tender slice.

Softer, and tougher all in the same time.

Anticipate the spill that runs from you whenever I hit the right spot.

Curated intestine and divine never feminine.

Vivacious and red you stupid meathead.

Pork and beef and silent and sensual.

Refrigerator, generator, anticipator.

Starved and bathed in stew,

coated on the counter across from you.

Broken up, smoked, left to sit in the pot for a couple of hours.

Charcoal chimney, pampered but probed.