Bread (the thing I want)

You tempt like a fresh-baked loaf of bread,

warm and yeasty and full of holes,

and I don’t care anymore about what it might do to me.

I want you: you joyful thing, you cake of angel,

you vanilla god. I want to be satisfied by you.

What is your shelf life? Can I can you? Can you

help me to preserve this? Because this moment

is beautiful, and you are beautiful, and I want

this to last forever. I’m not so Zen, I don’t want

longing, I want satisfaction. I want you.

So, will you stay? Be my kin, be my love.

I can’t bake for one, I can’t live for one.

If I were to tempt you, how would I appear?

Am I the wine to your flesh? Could I slake

your dry throat before your lecture?

Be my bread, the thing I want,

not what I need,

be ever-present, be timeless.

Be mine, and rise beside me.

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