Stay Hungry

You told me with your eyes

what your mouth did not dare,

that you were starving

for something unnameable.

Not the act alone,

but the dissolution,

the vanishing of self

inside another’s wanting.

I let you pull me down,

our limbs tangled like roots beneath the surface.

There was no gentleness in our hunger

only the rhythm of flesh meeting flesh,

as if to undo time itself.

You moved with urgency,

but it was not need alone

it was worship.

The way your hands roamed me

was not conquest,

but reverence for the body

as a vessel for longing.

You told me to stay hungry,

to never be satisfied

with the first tremble,

the first gasp,

the first fall.

You wanted the wave after wave,

the unraveling,

until the edges of your being blurred

and you existed only

as pulse,

as heat,

as ache.

And even then

even spent,

sated,

you looked at me with fire

and whispered again,

“Stay hungry.”