A Physiology of Need

look at this face;
it is a map
of clandestine tracks
for your lips to follow,

kiss this mouth;
it is parchment
ink bleeding red, torn
open only by you,

feel this head;
it is a sunken vessel
in hard blood, thick
pulsing at temples,

fill this mind;
it is buzzing
as a bee lost
in arbours of pollen,

touch this heart;
it is an anvil
that never cools,
forging shapes of 'U',

ride this soul;
it is a wind-whipped sea
one drop me,
the rest is you.

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