Betty

C'mon, baby, you know God gave you them fangs
so you can sharpen your knife,

C'mon, baby,
is it too much to be asked to be cut tonight?
ripe flesh flawed but displayed for the cutting,
the deer make haste through the woods
'cause the bucks are rutting,
find me bloodletting,
find me feeding on the dead skin cells in the folds of your bedding,
hasten the good men from the wedding,
may they run rabid like dogs chasing confetti,
may they strike you as lost men,
but deadly,
never to be savored by your harsh tongue of sand
and sin,

C'mon, Betty,
brandish that blade and let's begin this messy undoing
while your hand's still steady.

TA