Fiend

Fiend

I was hoping I could fill myself with something sanctuous.

But when I drink liquor it fills my veins
and stops right at my heart,
the pulsating chasm having no more room for toxic waste.

And when I inhale the white aftermath of burning budding earth
the swirling snake of smoke stops just before my languid lungs,
which can hardly stand the redundant routine of compressing and its counterpart.

But when I am filled with you,
when you are inside of me,
I am Ponce de Leon discovering the fountain of youth.
My toes dance as they haven't since I discovered them as an infant.
My every valve, vein, vital sign
is encumbered by you, incumbent on you
to have the want, the will, to feel washed anew.