I am hungry for you.

For your
fingers climbing
my face,
my hair,
pulling me in.


I’m starving,
the ache blooming
in my bones,
digging pits
in my belly,
driving wooden slivers
under my nails.

The want
of your mouth
leaves a thirst,
dry and unquenchable,
unendable and deep.
My throat yearns
for a drop
of your tongue
to stop the pain,

the hunger from
eating me from
the inside,

yet I know I will never
be sated.
I will never feel you
winding your way inside me,
pumping me full of your darkness,
the heat you carry like a cross,
a pain so hard it lights up worlds.

You are gone,
yet ever present
in your gaping absence,
and I am still hungry.
Famished for
a taste of your lips
against my tongue.


One thought on “Starved

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