The skin is coarse yet

soft

and warm

under my blade.

He guides me upward,

glides me against the flesh,

as I remove the lather and stubble that is there.

The motion is repeated

up, up, up, pushing along

the skin.

Over and over we do this, he and I one,

he and I united,

together in this pursuit

of giving this nameless man

a shave.

The next time he brings me against the flesh however,

I know his intent, our intent,

is different this time around.

He puts me against the neck, my smooth side next to

throat.

I feel a pulse throbbing methodically

against my cool surface.

Then in one movement,

one deft swipe,

my sharp edge is at the neck,

pressing earnestly into flesh,

slitting across in a straight line.

Blood gushes over me,

seeps over my exterior,

covering me, coating me, wrapping me in the

delightful

warm

red blanket.

It spills over me, flows over me,

and precious rubies drip to the floor.

Then he is there,

lovingly caressing me with his towel,

removing the rubies from my body

until I gleam pure silver once more.

My partner, my friend, he holds me a minute more,

whispers words of devotion, of trust, of promise,

before he tucks me away in the box, back with our other friends,

where I will sit patiently

until next time.