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.