A Marvel of Time and Space. Here, there is no Marvel. EXPLOSION EXPLoSION

First he takes the knife as he would his lover. Behind the off white mask he hides behind, I can tell he would rather be anywhere in the world. For that, I can forgive him. He wipes the knife for a third time across his apron. A finger goes up , slowly, to push back the glasses he wears. The game has begun and there is no one left but him.
He starts by pushing the loving blade down against the top of the forehead; In the exact spot he outlined 10 minutes earlier with a black marker. The edge cuts around the whole perimeter of the face before finally stopping where it began. A hand comes up to brush away the sweat on his coarse brow. He draws his lover in close, then wipes if a second time on his apron. The job is yet to be done, there are still black marker around the eyes, more, and mouth. Again he grasp his lover and moves it across the marks as if committing adultery.
Minutes later he reluctantly places the love of his life on a cold steel tray. He swear under his breath, his mask, about cleaning it off. Seconds pass that seem like years before his two hands lower toward the now seemingly mangled face.
A lite drumming motion emits from his hands on to the face. With each tap, tap , tap of his fingers, whom he teats like bastard children, the face ripples to the open seems. He makes his way up toward the cut in the forehead like he move a hand up a womens dress. He arches his back and grabs at the loose skin as hard as the world will him. He can feel his index finger with his thumb through the skin that separates them.
My vision blurs as he rolls my skin past my eyes. He takes notice of my squinting and pulls the mirror above my head in a bit closer. I fell victim to a man and his lover. I fell victim to a man and his love.