The beetroot heart.

Beetroot was forked. Forked, exploited and cut into pieces.

juices started popping out of its round body,
drippin on the plate,
forming lines of red,
lines of different shades of red
that were not fucking "grey" but red instead,
a red sea on a plate with beetroot guts swimmin in the redness,
a yellow dip castaway on the side staring at the beetroot crying its eyes out
because it was being eaten
Despite its death the beetroot wasnt sad, nor melancholic,
it was a moment of beetroot enjoyment, a vegie-human intercourse where mouth, tongue, teeth, texture and vitamins become one.

And there were sighs, incomprehensible whispers, tears of pleasure, intimacy.

It was a profound realisation of the loss of a life. Helpless, addictive and ecstatic as fuck.