on the nights where my eyes gorge on you,
a banquet of star-matter, where my belly
becomes distended from consuming your
words in small bites, where my blood
thaws by your name alone,
where my heart is brimming with you
and becomes asynchronous to
the burning world outside –
i imitate old-world poets and sip wine
to let you ferment into poetry
and write scores of poems
to bleed it out of me.
