dinner party at the cannibals'
bite your tongue and pretend the blood in your mouth is mine.
the back, so full of sinew and muscle, gets caught between the teeth.
open me up and consume my lungs.
lick your teeth clean and take my hands.
keep me, with you, and i'll do the same.
flayed alive, skin tanned by the fire.
if this is wrong, if this was never meant to happen, then why does your cheek taste so sweetly? why does your blood feed me more than any meal could, make me full in a way no wine ever could?
our dirty little secret is shared over the body of your neighbour- a priest. we smile and joke as we take his flesh as if it was our communion bread, as if he could have ever been holy.
what is holy is found here, at our dinner table. what is blessed is found in the human thigh; roasted in the oven. what is right is found in your teeth scraping against mine; not as a kiss, but rather serving as a reminder of what you can do.