my hunger for you
awakens me from deep sleeps and
your scent guides me through new york labyrinths
revealing different versions
of your skin.
my lips touch
your unexplored, untouched surface
and we climax.
you leave me afterwards
but i feel like i no longer need you.
until five hours pass,
then i lust for you.
we begin, we end, i forget, i need
i don’t mind this fickle romance.
who knew shrimp cocktails
or crispy chicken sandwiches
would outlast the casanovas
of our century