Bread

Every time, he leads you into temptation to become a gentleman

Who feeds on crumbs under his servant’s table.

He asks you to do him harm, for you to stab him,

To shred him to pieces, consume his still warm body.

Without shame he appears to you naked as at Creation.

He is a pervert. He provokes you with abstinence.

But he is being given you and you give. And every morning

And every evening you repeat the floury game.

He made you into a crematory of guilt.

When he feeds you, you speak and instantly are more famished.

Yes, yes, he loves you, that is why he accepts your knife.

He knows that all his wounds crumble in your hands.