You stole my hand, my fingers, my bones - joint and gristle. You slammed down a cleaver, or was it a spoon? "I can't believe you just did that!" - but you smiled that meathook smile, the one I can't resist, despite/because of myself. Hooded eyes latch shut, then slowly go back to start, just like those old dolls that cried "mama", which you never did, except in scorn. "You're mine" you smooched, "all mine." "I own you like this mock leather belt, I own you like yesterdays remains, I own you like a fistful of pennies...but you came cheaper than all those things and more. You came to me with nothing more than a skimpy lurid one piece wrapped around your soul/heart. It didn't hide much, but revealed a wealth. You were cheap at half the price of nothing." Then watch as his black glistening tongue slides along the sharp blade. Blood is so sweet when it's not yours.