Thirst (for the same song)

Thirst (for the same song) All day long the feeling had a throat. Not love yet. Not a plan. A thirst with your name in it. I kept pouring hours on it. It did not drown. That is the teaching and the insult: what you feed learns your address. Come over, then. Be the sensation. I know what the sensation is for. It will quiet me the way a match quiets a dark room, by being brighter, not by ending fire. Do me, and for a minute the day will have a job. That is sensual thirst. I can say it without flinching. Under it, the other two. I want to become the one you undress. I want to stop being the one who has been talking to the walls. A self, and the demolition of a self, billed to the same night, the same song, the same hands. Call that Babylon if you need a city. Call the aftermath nirvana if the craving clocks out and forgets to punch back in. I will not pretend I earned the quiet. I ordered it with the oldest currency. Thirst sent thirst to find the place where thirst gives up. If you come, come knowing the doctrine is laughing. If the quiet comes, let it be an accident of saturation, not a prize. One night long. The reach, the grip, the little death of the reach. Same song. And if I start wanting again before morning, do not be surprised. Thirst is a faithful animal. It always finds the way back to the bowl.