Some sturdy–lipped dish it is,
 holding my heart upon the stump
 to catch the dredges
 as 5 times with the razor–edged axe you strike
  precisely cordoning it into 10 wedges.

I swoon as you daintily indulge each bite,
 dousing each sliver in its pulp
 before each tear
  when your incisors sink into my flesh;
when you swallow, it is my heart’s contentment.