then came that moment
sitting across the diner table
as the butter knife entered
intercostal muscles
anchoring your feminine ribs

when the last thread
holding your white summer dress

together

gave way

the room and your lungs fell silent
and you
knew

you just fucking knew
to your bloody shoes
that you would be the next woman
whose character would be assassinated

body chewed by snaggled tooth
bones licked clean
gone through
entrails strung across
a pennsylvania turnpike

and he would soon be
full mouthed
reliving the kill
while eating a pink fleshed
corned beef sandwich
talking of you
using words as a means of sacrilege
to the next gullible victim

while explaining he’s never physically
hurt a woman
and you shouldn’t
make him break
his streak
over you