A Matter of Taste

we sit face to face

across the table

looking for clues,

like wary gamblers

watching for tells,

weighing each other up

through a wine glass

aged bottles of wine we

can no longer afford to buy

their identities concealed

litter the table like aimless

defrocked priests,

thus, we take communion

savouring the rich red blood

with vampiric satisfaction,

these were our children

purchased whilst young,

raised with love and care

to this precious moment

of perfect maturity,

we sit face to face

across the table

strewn with the corpses

of loved ones,

it’s over, it’s done

Published by grahamrsherwood