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.