2:39 A.M.

The yearning begins

when dawn dips

fingers beneath the horizon,

lifts the blankets

and kisses my fevered ankles.

Love licks the fire

burning where Eden grows.

My throat is the beginning

of limerence and stars tripping

over dust kicked in my hair.

You never thought, I bet,

of the consequences of swimming

in a bed made of raw desire,

until you find Armageddon

beneath the pillows.

This yearning has a mouth

and a stomach, both demand

to be fed. Both crave to taste

the empty from the god size hole

in your head. Dawn dives

under the covers, drinks

delusion from the tit,

and smirks when my desperate

becomes a fist.