Eyes as blank as a slate,
With a hunger to satiate –
I go to garden’s gate –
With vines delicately interlaced.
A strawberry lane awaits,
I pick them into my crate –
A bubbling body with taste,
With a fluid rich - it pulsates.
Hands wash each ruby sedate –
Leaves set to decapitate,
A slice, a dice, a blade.
A corpse upon your plate.