Rare, please.

This pounded meat

Bruise-veined and scarred

Caged in red white bone

I butcher it to feel

Scar it to remember

Untwist its bloody tendered weave

And tear it once again

Pain or perfection?

I raise a bottle to the pain.

The dull ache tightly clamps the rusty

Blunt blade of connection.

Hold fast if you like.

But the slow pull will always win.

Serrated edges create their own crimson exit

Faster now.

A dizzy agony of goodbye frees the mottled sword.

Frees me.

I remember now, how to stitch.

How to mend.

How to prepare this scarred pounded meat

For another cook.