Between the Skin and Skull

How can he?
How can he take the scalpel
and run it down her breast bone,
peal back the thick, rubbery layers of skin
and look at her stony heart?

Her eyes that had once looked upon the backyard swing
in hesitation
were harvested first,
while she was still soft and warm.
Empty sockets.
No accusation left.

His pelvis presses hard against
stainless steel tables, he shifts from one foot to the next.
Long hours.

On his tongue he still tastes the olives
from lunch, round, whole, plump.
The purple streak across the sunrise
from his commute still lingers
in his mind filled with love-making
from the night before.