Sausage!

Sentiment.
The unencumbered malice
that was never twisted inward
like a dull stick that pieced
veins counterclockwise.
Questions of sentiment in
otherworldly ways and the noun
that vixens her was sausage:
SAW-SAGE!
We saw that sage that wasn’t
otherwise worldly but robotic
so about the swirls of girls
and the saw-sages that are
about as long as life itself
ate about and laughed about
what else cannot trail
its intent intestinal insecticide.
Yours was never the ways that
Could take from the facts
nor could you understand
what you read in one way
or another.
I laugh.
I laugh inside and out
while you turn in your bed
and wonder how big it was:
sausage.
Little hogies,
big salamis,
pork sausages;
One satisfied
the other sickens.
While I eat away
you
and your imaginary sausage.