our next meal

she dug her up.
dirt under chipped nail polish
and filth in the pads of her fingertips.
she looked just as lovely.
decay hadn’t taken her quite yet.
bugs hung off of her sweet bones,
and she was envious.
the slope of her back and the curve of her hips
intact with dirty ivory and sweet pink bits
of flesh, soft and succulent in its color and taste
she would know
there had been girls before her and
there would be girls after
and she would appreciate the irony
of being turned into a meat hand pie
served on her next date