This poem is want —

1. nights spent displacing           unnamed hungers from this bowl ecstasy, clenching at my own hands           or the strange hands of a lover                     only unearths more     2. 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 … Continue reading This poem is want —