Sonnet of the Famished Man

Girls are just meat, he said.
You can't write love songs for a steak.
Hearts start to rot once their owners are dead.
Trust me ' they putrify rather than break.
A heart's just a sac in a cockpit of bone.
A girl's just a chassis, a frame.
She'll melt like ice cream slouched in a cone.
All scorched corpses look just the same.
Love's just a director's commentary, he told me.
It reins in days like a string bag holds tangerines.
Don't cling to one girl 'til she gets old, he
Scolded, pluck them in their teens.
Girls are just meat ' meat makes you strong.
Let the scrape of knives be your love song.