The Butcher

His strong, blunt-fingered hands are clean and soft, but I know what they do, day by day; where they’ve been and what they’ve touched.

CW: If you’re vegetarian, vegan or are squeamish about where your food comes from; don’t read this. If you read it anyway and find yourself squicked out or offended, don’t hate on me. I did warn you.


His strong, blunt-fingered hands are clean and soft, but I know what they do, day by day; where they’ve been and what they’ve touched.

Private Viewing

Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder

Your heart quickens every time you catch that first glimpse, melts with wonder and joy as you gaze longer until you are burning with fierce adoring need. Painted and polished, on display for the gaze of the discerning connoisseur and the idle glance disinterested passer-by both; she presents the same face to all and provokes in you a hot desperate need for exclusivity, access to the soul behind the smile, to explore the uncharted territory of mind and heart beneath the smoothed-over surface.

There are no fingers deft enough to pick her locks, impervious to light touch or sly nudge she stays locked away behind a shield of transparency. What you see is what you get, says her open face; here on my sleeve is my heart, look no further. You know there is more, and better beneath.