Love is
the butter to my bread, the
bread to my hunger
And bread is my thirst,
Patiently.
I count the bites
And the crumbs left behind
And chew
And chew.
This pillowy dry that
nourishes
also mops up the wet
Slowly, going down.
Mouth smacks, parched,
Magnetically
And with my two hands,
Which are mine,
Wholly mine,
I reach for the drink
Of you
Of you;
Of light;
Of you.
