in hunger.

 

I drop to my knees
not in prayer
not in grace
but in weakness
in hunger
a molecular kind of famish
that forces my mouth open 

my lips press

against the floor

my tongue licks
slobering
tastes bud 
searching
for a trace
of something.
of something his foot 
has left behind 
not even something

of him
but of a place in time
he once traveled
a grain of sand from when
he was free
an old sticky piece of gum
from city streets
of a vampiric life 
of music slinging
a speck of mica
born of a graveled rock
from when he ascended so high
up a mountain
worthy of avalanches.
But i taste nothing
his soul 
a different flavor

uncontrolably unidentifiable
and it's nothing my belly craves.
it's nothing but the dirt from
forgetting to take off rainboots
and leftover crumbs from the
bread I bake in the forests womb.


I am starving
so hungry my body
growls whole and hard
spasms like a passion
longing for a piece of something

and bread won't do
i'd tear flesh off his broken bones
and divine myself
a proper meal
and with my new found fervor

I'd sew him 
a new set of skin
braiding him together
with memories of 
being lovers + dreamers
when we didn't mind 
eating drive-thru
at 3am
because we'd fuck it all
off by the sunrise
wide and rising phoenix-like
california style
in salmons and oranges
red like the lust
of my tongue
and the fire in my throat.

I get up up 
I am hungry for his armpit.
I'll take that
Where I can taste 
the place he'd die 
for me, for us
under the heavy wood
of someone else's shelter
to feed me a bit more than
I actually deserve.

I am so hungry. 
Back on my knees.
pressed into the ground
willing to suck up the Earth
Whole.
Swallowing anything,
Anything that was left.
Anything good that was left.
Is there anything good left?


There is so much good left.  A small flavor I have found.