Holding the Hunger like an old friend.
An old beautiful, dangerous, intimate friend.
A lover who knows this body and heart so well.
A lover who knows how to play
of my psychosomatic experience
until I lose myself in his embrace.
Because I invited him in,
taught him the curves and waves of my desire.
Showed him where I keep my heart.
Thinking he would guide me home.
But now I know his motives are so ulterior,
I dare not give in to this offered pleasure.
This ultimate seduction.
The hardest to resist is also the deadliest.
I have learned the hard way not to feed this
for his devouring
only leaves me hung over and wanting.
But there is no ending the torment.
No prison that will hold this beast.
No reigns that control it for long.
No where to run.
He knows every place I'd think to hide,
every cranny into which I would slide.
The more I seek to flee,
the more he stalks me like the prey I then make myself to be.
I can distract us for a moment from our deadly dance.
But then he finds a new enticement.
at the edge of an emptiness
that cannot be filled.
A rawness that must ever be exposed.
amidst prayers for absolution
from the self-same force that gives us life,
I release every strategy.
Every clever plan and delicious fantasy.
I can only sit with him.
Tenderly hold this raging ache,
this numbing force,
this tumultuous yearning.
And wait for him to reveal the gift
he has been this whole time holding.
Braving the claws.
Staring back into the hungry eyes.
Extending my open palms.
Bearing my naked chest.
And bringing him right next to my heart.
We breathe together, Hunger and I.
I remember all the joy his toying has brought me.
All the anguish our war has cost me.
All the lessons addiction has taught me.
The compassion this being human has wrought in me.
And I am fed, and I am found.