The Lust for Matter

I suppose you mean

the sweat that clings

to the forehead, gives

in to dripping, bass

that barrels through

speakers to find our hips

circling like vulture beaks,

pecking at strobelights,

pain that only knows one

song, darkness that grips

bedroom walls, sips of

memory that won’t go

down,seasoned skillets

hissing under yolks, bright

petals reaching through

blinds to find more and

more sun, or maybe you

mean the honeybee

sliding down the tongue

of the pitcher plant,

becoming the nectar it

seeks, or the moon

needing our gaze while

it scrubs the tide with its

one good nail, how the

bones crave the muscle,

electrons crave each other,

shoulders long for things

to carry, bathtubs ache

for bodies who ache

for wombs who ache

for the blood to

stay this time, stay

and let us make this

love into some precious

lump that will lust for more

of itself, more heart, more

doubt, more fingers to

hold the water slipping

from its grasp.