Whetstone dance on dinner-knives
To receive my guests so wholly;
They should’ve heard, in my eyes
A pallid affair unholy.
Smacking lips, cracking hips
Percussions from the side.
Slacking grips, backing zips
Let your silverware slide.
A spill to stain the tablecloth
liquid memento mori
Spreading, bleeding, into broth
“A Da Vinci dinner,” says I.
Peeling flesh, reeling guests
Please, try to run and hide
Dealing thresh, stealing breath
Lap up the souls who died.
Shuddered gasp, a dreadful shame
Cadavers spoiled by a surprise,
this hungry host, can’t complain
Of these such pretty splintered thighs.
