As though it were written on my forehead,

my mother measures me in the weight of it

it is in my bones, whittled away by bad blood

and chipped by my choices.

As though it were my name,

inadvertently, my mother whispers this new name

to me as she bids me good night,

Another year without a degree?

When are you graduating again?

What is your major again?

What can you do with English again?

Inadequate,

mediocre,

immeasurable,

all are the same

I am not enough.

I’m jealous of the sun,

how it crawls across your skin.

Flushing your cheeks,

pulling the freckles from under the surface.

I’m jealous of the wind,

how it lifts your clothing from your frame.

Tickling your neck,

teasing your hair to attention.

How you lift your face to each,

tipping your chin skywards.

How your eyes close,

how you let the pleasure wash over you.

Do you remember the nights we spent filling each other up?

You, eating my sleep as a feast.

And me, filling with your exhaustion.

Draining and bursting.

Bite down on the flesh of my dreams one last time?

Let me dig my teeth into your late nights?

Swallow down your slumber as you inhale my evening repose.

I know you’re starving, love.

So am I.

All of my love,

your sleepless nights

We are

Salty currents

In a sea, unexplored

Our chemistries

Mix

In rushing

Imperative

Driven

Beyond reason

Beyond caution

Beyond place

In our thirst

For immortality

Our bodies

Run

This ancient

Race

Spawning

Generations

In dance

Of living pace

Our essence

One

In twisted grace

Your form

Your soul

Your heart

I taste

I vow

That not

One drop

I'll waste

This ballet

In love's ocean

Lost to sight

Lust makes another person the physical embodiment of your every desire to such a degree that having your way with them becomes a bodily necessity like the need for food and water. You imagine indulging so vividly that for reality not to play out exactly as such physically pains you. May their very aura arouse you and the absence of their body against yours make your life feel inadequate.    

First, it feels like a madness.

Driven by a primal compulsion versus an emotional guidance.

Even if you resist it, inside a part regrets the resistance.

Even if you give in to it, eventually the regret can blacken that moment.

But in that surrender, however long, there is a sweet freedom of pleasure; rapture! That freedom is an illusion, yet you need it's illicitness all the same.

Joyful madness.