Your flesh

invited me for dinner.

An old phonograph

echoing 50s blues

is spinning though my memories.

Bloody painted wine

upon the velvet tablecloth

forces my villainous thirst.

Knives rest skillfully

opposite to the shiny tridents

for the upcoming combat.

This massacre is private

and the sweating windows

will hide the sin.

Blood-pressure rises

as the fire of desire

is mirrored in my eyes.

Deadly silence

is sharpening my senses.

Cardiac palpitations

strike through my stomach.

Abdominal murmurs

are craving for the victim.

Gastric acid juices

are burning my inwards.

I prefer my steak blue.