Cupboard Love

Knives, herbs and wine all in a line
and I’m running my finger over the 
bumps of the cheese grater, in 
the quiet cold of the kitchen.
Chopping board’s smeared with seeds,
cooking oil’s getting runny, 
the water’s boiling
I’ve got mustard, honey. 
Lets stick a fork in the meat, see if it’s ready.
Strips of meat from your arms, 
sliced fat from your belly and 
I’m holding your hand that’s holding the kettle.
I'll keep your bones in a box, your heart's in the freezer.