And This Time The Butter Rejects The Knife Poem by Shay Alexi

Butter to knife: How old were you when you first started stealing softness? What does it feel like to see a savory body content in her own sweetness?

Butter to knife: You say you like my softness, like being this golden, living silk was my birthright. You think I got this way by accident? You should've seen my mother, my mother's mother, my sisters churned to get this smooth, this cream, this trusting.

Butter to knife: You never knew me spoiled milk. Sometimes, the hardest work is that which it takes to cultivate softness. But you wouldn't understand that now would you?

Butter to knife: You make it look easy. Slicing into me only to rename me dressing. Call me adornment. Behind every mighty carbohydrate there is a thing that makes you actually want to consume it. There is a delicate flavor you crave. You never notice when you have been blessed by softness. Except when we generous, velvet bodies leave and the nights are cold again.

Butter to knife: You said "look, I'm soft too." Said "they named me for you. Called me butter knife. Aren't we soulmates? " Said you were unfamiliar with the word cut. Said you never knew slice. Clip. crop, snip, trim. And now look at me. More wound than cream.

Butter to knife: You know we deserves this softness? This rebelliously silken skin. This luxurious, present body? I do.