Tepid blood is drizzling down the tip of my
left index finger and flowing toward the palm of my hand. Like my
quest for intense passion, I fiercely clutch the handle of a white paring
knife and I realize for the first time where my loyalties lay.
I would never bleed for anyone.
My childhood bed had once been as soft as
a cloud of baby powder. Tonight I felt how the endlessness of disappointment
had turned it into a slab of stone. A man I barely know is sleeping
on it now. Earlier tonight I was drawn to the brashness of his hunter's
scent. His hungry whispers evoked my savage touches. At first
I scraped at the shield that protects his heart as I moaned while fire
jetted through my arched back. Then I dug my fingernails into his
chiseled muscles wanting to steal any love his soul may be concealing.
I discovered quickly that was nothing there for me to take.
And now I stand barefoot in my kitchen, a room
constructed of stainless-steel logic, and I find solace in the orange rectangle
of cheddar cheese standing at attention on the cutting board in front of
me. The chill from the refrigerated brick lingers upward and cools
my chin. Positioned like a spotlight, a full moon gleams through
the exposed window pane. I can see the gentle curves of the solid
mass I count on to make me feel better.
The pieces I had cut before the knife encountered
my finger are obediently waiting to please my salivating mouth. Heavy
with comfort and memories, I know the cheddar cheese will bring me the
rapture I am yearning for.
I would never bleed for anyone, but I would
for cheddar cheese.