Push me against a wall of silk and gossamer;

Kiss me: your hungry eyes are telling me

that this couldn’t be more real—

Starved bodies and delicious friction

And, god, you against my cheek—

Forget my vitals, this is the surest sign that I’m alive

This, a raging something that couldn’t be

more intuitive or elusive,

and it figures—

you and I, putting the irregularity back in to be.

(alone, naked, we’re just nursing the need to live.)