K A L O P S I A

NINE

He showed her how he dissected the body
into destroyable parts
the limbs
head
insides

Were all carefully
and artistically
dismembered
and destroyed in their own
clever and careful way

He never kept any part of his killings
he always thought that was far too excessive
it was never the parts of the body he admired

It was the look of the living
as they knew they were dead
their bright eyes glazing over into glass stones
the hot, running blood broiling to paste
the warm, pink bodies turning to grey plaster

That was what he loved
that was what she loved about him

The passion
the skilfulness
the illumination of his eyes
at the lack of illumination in his victim's

She was his nightingale
He was her monster

And they were in love