He bags them up after
he watches me give my limbs
to a wood chipper;
a test.
A Loyal Test.
A Bloody True Test.
He knows that we are gambling.
Everything is in.
Stakes are high.
Gangly arms and
gorgeous legs
hit,
kick,
scratch at him through
plastic.
It’s not that he doesn’t care to play,
he is convinced.
The taxidermy came.
Took a thousand dollars with
my useful pieces,
said he would come back tomorrow.
I waited.
He waited with me,
with my bloody mess of me.
He poured my tea.
He scented my herbs.
He kept my perfume.
He smiled approvingly at my test.
After sleep cauterized my wounded
lady,
I woke to the scent of
constant devotion hovering
around my limbless torso.
Hair brushed, breasts held
firmly in black cotton.
A smile of approval
and
limbs. Arms, legs,
kept,
stripped of death fragrance,
nails painted
with pretty sincerity.
His gift to me.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
it’s definetly a true test of love, anyone should look deep inside themselves and see if there is an act of love more true; something like that isn’t easily thrown away.