“Where is the heart that once hid behind you?”
The cut and bump of steel through breast onto board beats in my ear. A fine smoke rises as the oil in the pan begins to burn. The gutted tomato halves stand silent. Decoratively sliced to look like lotus flowers, beautifully bloodied. I lift the board of war and wipe clean the plains of battle with the edge of my knife. The ravaged breasts fall into the fire of oil. A denser plume of smoke rises from the pan. I turn the shreds over, coating them in hot oil. The clock lives on the wall. My friend will be here soon. Is she the one I've been waiting for?