Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen
will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing,
writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to
probe the pounding, begging heart.
And all the while the prey will
howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal
show
Of metal in the man.