by Stephen Roberts

Created on: February 09, 2009

Titled: The Butcher and the Chef:

Once classified by other women

as a whore,

She waits:

For anyone.

The butcher is first on the cutting block.

With every blow by his instrument,

Another sinew is sliced,

Till in the end there are only tears.

The cleaver:

In the grip of a masculine hand

coldly carves random flesh,

for consumption.

A fatty piece,

Turned hard,

Remains soft at the loin,

Sweet and juicy.

Initial proceedings,

Perfect to the butcher's eye:

cleaned and prepared

feelings avoided: satisfaction

Meat is simply sustenance

to a hungry palate,

Nourishment.

Stales.

A chef's fingers,

Vision intrigue.

A delectable treat,

Some thing so sensitive: a woman

Passion clears the mind.

Delicious, the mentor infuses,

Creation on to waiting flesh;

A separation of love and hate.

With each sway,

With each move,

A delicacy blooms,

Every tear stripped away.

Till in the end,

There remains a dish,

So succulent,

Only a fool could tell:

It's not love.

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