Steak, rustic,
the fleshy side
I squeezed, spurred
on by a virgin,
stabilized by a verb.
Flank me, copper,
my hips pungent
with meat juice,
isn’t that pleasant—
but I did tend cattle
in my youth, so shut
up about it. Cleaved,
Grass-fed, and crystal
glasses cupping numbness—
greyhound, screwdriver
sea-breeze, cosmopolitan.
Do you know these
as I do? (intimately?)
Grapefruit cheeks, orange
elbows, cranberry pupils and tits
up in a bar, because I wish
my ribs showed.
The shape
of the blank slate,
freckled smile
sharp in the mirror,
but a craving
to filet
the fat away
overpowers the stench
of positivity (bleached
sand and roasted
yellow starch);
Gluttonous,
bovine reflection, you’re nasty,
drunk like the dog, the tool,
the ocean mist—
but I can’t wear a bikini
because dimpled skin
stains more than
ribeye secretions.
Daisy Sellas is a creative writing student at Belmont University in Nashville, TN. She writes poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, and just recently got accepted to NYU as a visiting student in the Writers in New York program.