Musk

My pain reaches from the highest strand of hair on my head
                              to the lowest corners or my back.
I’m no good at crying anymore.
   I realized that tears are no saviours-
     They’ve lost their power to resurrect.
When I bite my own flesh, it is soft.
   It is as soft as the flesh of any other man
	yet so vastly different.
The taste of another remains so sweet,
          so succulent, that I must hunt out another body.
I’m taunted by your odor.
The essence of your body calls to me-
a constant reminder that yours is the only musk I’ve known.
	My head swims.
I get dizzy when I stand up to quickly.
	I love too easily.
 I trust too much.
Your hands were so warm once.
They created paths of heat
    that soothed the chill within me.
Your eyes were once beautiful blue marbles
    that belonged solely to me.
I am the bastard son of the divine muse
                              and the gaudy bourgeois.
I am calling to you and you do not listen.
I am flailing my naked limbs in the cold night air
            in the cold night air to catch your eye.
I am offering you every square inch
                               of my bare body
               to do with what you will
         I am wanting you still
    and will
until
I have you again.
The wounds that you opened are now festering
   and secreting some kind of life-force 
        with which I am not familiar
   and it flows gently in your direction
        knowing its exact placement
             like the tide
   and taking with it every atom that I possess.
I would be a happy boy if only you would receive me
  and ingest all I have to give you.

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