This poem is want —


nights spent displacing
          unnamed hungers from this bowl

ecstasy, clenching at my own hands
          or the strange hands of a lover
                    only unearths more


We spend the day arranging ourselves to avoid contact
             but you linger on my mouth
                          my eyes touch
                                       exposed clavicle under your loosened shirt

                                                                 A wound reopens


low hanging branch

leaves framing bright C of the moon

sweet wine in a jar

lips on my shoulder