wanting.

I keep wanting.
you hold my hands in yours and rub your thumb against my cheek and I
know that I want.
I don’t know what I want, I
don’t even know how to want it, but
I keep wanting.
and I despise this part of me
that has no sense of propriety;
it’s shameful and maddening and needy–
too ugly to call devotion,
too desperate to be just greed.
I’ve spent lifetimes in deserts and I thought I knew hunger
but then I looked into your eyes
and realised I’ve been famished;
you’re an oasis and I’m a
starving dog under the guise of a man
reminding himself to behave
but every time I try to hold you my claws get in the way
every time I try to kiss you I’m afraid I might bite
I’m afraid of a lot of things, I’m afraid that I might
keep wanting.
god, I just keep wanting
to want less–
this vile hunger is so much bigger than my body
and I try my best to hold back
but every time you look at me I’m terrified
that you can see it in my eyes
it’s hopeless, I’ve got nowhere to hide
this pathetic relentless wanting
that’s been burning me up inside.