When two cannibals start dating, they’re just like us.
First awkward date includes coffee or alcohol.
Maybe some furious necking in a cab or in the hallway
Near the restroom. When she got home, she looked in the mirror
And she looked the same as yesterday.
But in her own eyes she saw something different.
She saw who he saw.
Aristophanes’ creation myth was never considered,
But its blueprint was etched inside her skull.
When two cannibals continue seeing each other seriously,
It’s no different from when you started dating your lover.
The bathroom door is kept closed during use
Even though the conversations were so damned interesting
And hard to pull away from. Sheets are washed at such
Rapid pace from wear, at least one cannibal cancels a long-held
Gym membership. One cannibal says, “You make me a better person.”
This makes the other cannibal cry. Their mouths meld together
Wet with tears. The feast was quite fine. To quote August Wilson,
The cannibals “try to blast a hole into forever.” They stay in all weekend
Continuing a decently organized search-and-destroy mission that always ends
In a self-absorbed celebration. But when one cannibal finds out
That the other cannibal was still fucking his ex for the first month they were seeing each
other—When things were so perfect and intense—the cannibals stop seeing each other.
Thankfully, the erring cannibal certainly knew enough about how Hollywood
Defines romance to show up unannounced with flowers and cries his heart out
Until their mouths pressed together sticky with tears, and they decided
(With their breasts, penises, vaginas and assholes, mouths and eyes)
To face infinity together. At the cannibal wedding those invited looked upon them.
Those who had loved and lost cried. And those who had never loved but wanted to love
And she, who had looked inside herself and knew that it’s just fucking wrong
To expect another person to fill one’s vessel, cried too because she was the loneliest.
She was the one person whose heart needed to be eaten the most, and so it was.
Power must be seized by force
One must recollect all blows
But be free to let other things be forgiven
With a large army one can do nothing
With a large army that believes in you
One can do anything
Don’t let your army
See your overgrowth
Don’t let them see you drink wine
And above all, don’t drink wine with them
When they kill you
It means they’ve seen your overgrowth
They’ve seen your moustache hairs fall to the interior of the lip
They’ve seen the nose outgrow the face
They’ve seen the pubic hairs climb through the cotton codpiece
As an adult you’ve never stopped growing, towering to eight feet
And six inches.
And your beard
Only lengthens the effect in the face.
two poems and photo courtesy of amy lawless, © amy lawless 2011