A greedy heart reaches its goal
and no reason can
sway the purpose of that act,
the intention of pulling those strings,
in parts or completely.
It is the heart that grabs and tears
everything in front of it, everything it wants.
Desire becomes a need,
it is held barely in the dark.
An irresistible hunger to be someone else’s.
Whose and why crucified,
Prominent appearance of refinement
at its worst,
but the ambiguity of that need
hangs with all its weight
on tops of even heavier eyelids.
Too honest, bare to the core,
a heart that no longer hides any secret.
And the mind lustfully seeks to restrain
that unbroken heart, and arms and knees
on which it squats, and in the noise, it speaks
to yearn to be submissive, taken, belonging.
Memories of some old wishes
they remain incomplete, just an echo
resonates in a lonely skeleton.
If nothing else at least reflects the image
of that time to not disappear, not to be just
a mere lust that fills in the gaps.
The heart knows that rampage in one desire
is only a matter of perspective and understanding
of physical existence, and that
doesn’t exist in physical form,
and it will never exist again.
Because what is rampant
for a fly in the dark, it’s banal
for the spider, and the same thing
the bird only notices in passing.
Greedy and insatiable, it demands to be
overwhelmed, controlled, used, shaken.
Time is a poor excuse for complacency.
It stops using it.
And it becomes a masochist.
To understand why it is a sadist.