There is something
less than you:
something, someone
smaller but sweet
valuable and worthy
momentary satiations
of sundry hungers
the pleasure of
lips that meet
of parts that fit
of skin that sings.
Why isn’t that enough?
As the unattainable
object of my desire
you are infinitely safer
than a good hard fuck,
and the risk that I’d
lose myself in the world
of someone else’s flesh.
That makes me
nothing but
a coward.