Severance

Being away from you is less of a physical, spacial separation and more of a severance. It is a hypothetical knife of air slicing so achingly slowly through an impalpable chop of meat, elastic tendrils of tendons and muscles unravelling and springing apart urgently. One by one, like marathon runners breaching a red ribbon finish line as I watch from behind a metal barrier, shivering in helplessness at the reality of observing and not partaking.
Keep your hands away from the metal bar. They shall reek of blood and old pennies when all is over. The cut is complete.
Two halves of a whole organ, once a collective tissue of memory and heartbeats and hot flushes like uniform cells, pulsating and ripe with purpose, vigor and passion. Now they are a cold, crumbling heap of dry, inert meat chunks, not even fulfilling the base use of flavour for a stock.
Nevertheless, you always liked biology the least from the forced triad of sciences, and I was never partial to meat.