Detached

Two teeth:
A pair of fangs,
And I bite, pulling, ripping.

I stalk my prey
Under the cool fluorescent light,
Leaving elegant wounds
To unbind pale flesh,
Gleaming fangs in the artificial blue-white
Flicker strobe, while machines sing a chorus.

In this tomb of stale air...

A mistake, a wrong move,
And I will be your salvation:
A second chance to set things right.

Cold metal on cold metal.