All I really want is to be full of love.
Svartsoppa first, black soup,
Just a bit of your blood,
Some for warm, mulled wine
And the rest to stir into hot chocolate.
A pie then, filled with viscera,
Your organs, all those pretty things that kept you alive,
Now, all for me, warm and dripping, buttery, flakey
Rosemary and thyme,
Your precious eyes and tongue to follow,
Your teeth are already a necklace, a string of pearls around my neck.
Meat and meat and meat, for days.
Days spent gorging myself with you.
Fat to keep you moist.
Your skin all stitched up into a nice blanket,
Pulled tight around my shoulders,
I want to stay wrapped up in you, in every scar and mole and freckle.
How special was your brain to eat.
Every thought, every memory,
Every dream.
Myself, through your eyes,
Your love for me slid right down my throat.
Some of your bones for stock and the rest,
Perhaps I’ll make into instruments,
To play you, strum you, whistle my breath through you.
When everything is done, you are not gone.
You have never been more present.
Inside and around me.
Our souls are conjoined twins.
Bound together, your voice in my head.
Now, I take you with me everywhere.

Penelope Steiss is a Schizotypal poet, author and folklorist who lives between a swamp in Florida and a forest in Sweden, but can most commonly be found on instagram at AntlerandFoxtail.