Like the sommelier in hell
Vintage too high on the shelf
I smell you but cannot reach you

Your humanity assaulting me
Want to feel you
Where the sun’s too timid to touch

To taste the sweating heart of you
The fluid center
Absolute and delicate

Feral and ferociously lapping
At each and every filthy fucking crevice
I will never be clean

In these dreams,
Hunted always, trembling
Neither one of us escaping

In my calm, an aching hunger
Empty, if not full of you
I am dizzy, and grateful, and sick for this