A man who knows his meats is one who can make a meal of a broad- so to speak

Knowing the difference between a rump and a brisket- takes more than just technique.

Men who ate steak….often preferred the fuller and chunkier physique,

And Barati was no different- the spark we made was beyond electric.


I knew I wanted no relation of the fainting heart with the butcher,

What I wanted to make was a steam that would form clouds off of the cooker

All I wanted was to make a beast with two heads without emotional pressures,

But desire came to collect after his one- time feast with a hooker.


Turns out Barati had a fairly large appetite,

One that formed pools of sweat- a different kind of heat that kept him up at night.

Now I know he gave me the disease- a secret he never brought to light.

He carried a curse from never wearing an armor on his duties as a knight.


My blood carries three letter tags from the sin we made on these sheets.

Not once, not once could I have known this man would make sickness taste so sweet…..

And when I said I’d make a mess of him  right across his shop at 86th street,

He laughed and told me: “we’re all dying sugar, take a fucking seat”


They all say- this is the diary of a mad black woman and I’m in the early stages,

I say I ought to be mad for the tears I bled on these damn pages.

Well I couldn’t let the receipts of his lust kill him before I got the chance,

So I grabbed his favourite knife, and took him out for a dance.


I Kung fud his ass and kamikazed his junk

Sliced his manhood into pieces and dumped his remains in the trunk

Verdict as charged- “life sentence for the lass who wears a three letter sign”

Between the chase and the climax- the lives I had…… I burnt all nine.


©Sabrina Najib


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