Desires Have Movements
Why must I tremble so
when ultimately I know,
I must be dust.
It is because of desires.
I’m sure.
If only they had the courage
to turn
and face me.
Perhaps,
stride beside me,
and dabble in a sweep of conversation.
Tell me their proper names.
And not disappear to reappear.
Like so much slap-dash meteoring
in a star overloaded sea’s night.
But,
perhaps I misspeak.
For the best of them
wash back and forth
in the back channels of my mind
to then be swaddled in its
banks and breakers.
If they would stay,
and not be feral,
I would break bread with them
and invite them to play
on a butcher block table.
We would have little other to do
than make love
or quarrel…
Or quarrel and then make love.