His
 
The break of his bones bang through his body
And my heated hands work harder.
It has been so long since my previous youngster.
My yearning deepens for this sensational taste and
My mind eerily feels miraculous ecstasy as I
Distinguish what I am able to take into my arms.
I can smell the smothered and rotting body beneath—
Beneath me upon my surgical table.
But first I carve out his lifeless eyes so he may watch me.
I know he wants to watch me experience him.
Slowly, I saw through the skin of this adolescent
And shudder with sheer bliss when his blood
Splatters and speckles all over my own skin.
An hour has passed and his remains beam
Spread out for my dog to see. Little Louie ponders
If it’s meant for him this time. It’s
Not. Feasting on the feet is where I begin, as I cannot
Tell you how my throat throbs for this taste.
The bottom is now devoured and I detour to
The depths of the brain. The squish and the squeeze
Of the savory sweet texture slips down my gullet
And into my stomach. I smile.
Back down to the surface, the slices that stand alone.
My favorite my favorite, but I cannot fight the feeling
Of the flawless flesh of which I fought to stay apart from.
The thickness of the thighs make my thinking halt.
Chomping hard and chomping fast; containment
Disappears.
Where did he come from? Who is this boy? Wait,
His ribs—they want to be ripped. Just like fishing,
I reel them to appear, one by one, the blows
Bring such pleasure. Thumpthump Thumpthump.
Not seconds ago. But thumpthump no more.
Just a still fistful of a heart, just a lustful lunch.
One bite and the blankness of euphoria begins—
I adore every infinitesimal crumb of my meal.
We become one: me and that once beating organ.
We mesh together as his heart passes mine,
And his blood fills my being.
I live for this feeling and only this. Full, I smile at
Little Louie, licking my lovely table clean.

Jamie Rothberg | Writer | Chicago

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