And What of It? desire

This ego is universal.
Talking to her, I see, it really is.

My stomach aches, in love and indigestion.
Why do I desire what I know I musn't?
Emotions, vagary beyond words.

And I just want strokin'

a secretive black predator,
my shoulders like thick turbines,
pumping in the night
air,

impulsive yet slow,

eyes alight in internal fear
of cold calculation
a terror in the killer's iris

clenched jaws,
of fate
neutuered fruits,
of attempts

to escape death.
Anger in a panthers
only action

climax caught in taped repeat,
it is the horror
of an
ecstatic forever.


Why can i not kill without the burdensome death of satiety?

Why the eyes, again and again?

Why do I know,
know to care?

Can I not feed,
be fed from the trees?

A hummingbird beats her

 bodice against cosmic sea, 

"all that you say you are, perhaps"

 Ah, I've got rhythm. . .