Like cannibals or cavemen,
We take our knives and forks and stab at beef
Expecting sparks but getting blood.
What comes from it is like a walk in darkness,
Expecting something.
All is good but you have hair coming out of your face,
In the night light, it reflects like prisms
And thoughts spurn touch.
You’re a cavewoman,
Frustrated by glass plates and napkins ordered smoothly on granite.
The food, with spittle on your chin, chokes down
Between sputtered conversations.  You’re excited by this,
And cover your mouth lit by candle light lost
Between shadows and taken by eyes.
Your hand now removed, revealing oily lips and
Blushed cheeks and I see an angel-like thing.
I can’t forgive myself.

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