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Should I Marry a Cannibal

Things would be alright for a while
provided I kept him well-fed.
Bodies dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs,
deviled shells of persons past,

lifted from the city morgue or local cemetery
then chopped and carried home in zip-lock bags.
All the filets and John Doe casseroles, but what,
I ask you, what of all those bones?

And should I tire of the shenanigans, the schlep
and preparation of such flesh,
would he be forced to then divorce himself
from vows? Sow-tie me up and slit my gut
to stuff with peanuts, spit

and roast me like a golden locust, lovely
thought, imagining that crunch.

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