If gravity is the moon’s reaching for the ocean,
what is the word for one hand seeking another?
Language lumps like ash in my mouth. I am
forever seeking an object that can explain this.
Does option exist for feeling? What power, the
ability to direct one’s reactions. I think this is called
poise. I prefer to swallow my losses, cultivating
sadness in that part of me that is dark and unseen.
I think of your mouth as an instrument of craving,
but instrument implies action, action implies choice.
My body is a series of appetites without answer.
I like to substitute the word desire for hunger,
a way to transform a need into an inclination,
an attempt at regaining some form of control.