Stretched taut and tight, and just as elastic
A familiar sight, reminiscent of a Dinty Moore
Which, when punctured, seeps an ooze of gore
My heart was beating in my breast
As the blade broke through her chest
A crunchy cracking through bone
Like the crust of a fresh calzone
From her scalp I tear
Vast handfuls of Angel Hair
“To the teeth,” so they say
As if they grew out al dente
As dessert, after the main
I start picking at her brain
Smooth and flavorful, with some gusto
It beats the finest Italian gelato
She is, if I were to rate
a perfect dinner date
Not a cheap can of Boyardee
In a word, corpus delicti