“Dinner Prep,” “Mythos” and “Ignorance”

In Issue 46 by Dannielle Pendzich

Away from myself, always, the blade angles
to save – dulls itself to keep, the hands wanting
to preserve even as the soul soils. I crave the bone
the meat the only thing hunger simmers under,
simmers for, for loneliness the gnaw (the echo
died, do you even beat) of never being touched.

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