THE BAKER

I baked him a cake,

and now I watched him cut it open.

The first slice always falls apart.

I winced, as the pieces crumbled like a landslide.

No matter how many cakes I bake,

the first piece that’s cut

always falls apart.

The inside was cherry red.

Globular, bulbous chunks leaked from the center.

Like giant blood clots, bathing in buttercream.

I imagined I had taken my still-beating heart from my chest

and baked it into the middle.

He took a bite, and grinned at mе.

His teeth stained like a row of garnets.

Now hе could have it,

and eat it too.