AN ODE OF GUILT

Stop looking at me. Yes, I know you’re gorgeous. Irresistibly so. In a fleeting moment of instinct, I reach over to you with trembling excitement. The zip manoeuvre of your packaging feels oh so satisfying. I hold your naked, delicate body. You feel soft. But not too soft. Just perfect. We wouldn’t want you to crumble. I observe you in the light. You have a smooth yet deceiving exterior. Some say you’re not much to look at. But they don’t know you like I do. Your minimalism is part of your mysterious charm.

Then with a knife, not blunt, but just with the correct serration (I don’t want to offend you), I slice. Slowly but surely. One. Two. Three. Oh go on, I can’t resist. Four. Five. SIX!

I would like to say I seductively place you in my mouth but really it’s more of a scoff. I’m nervous of imposters. They’ll call me a ‘cheat’, a preacher with no principles. I was the female martyr delivering my vow of veganism to the people. But you… rich, delectable, wholesome… You are my kryptonite. We should name you the Antichrist...not Cathedral Cheddar.