I eat on the palm of your hands, you serve
a buffet of fresh fruits, sweet bread, lure.
Oh let me crawl now closer to you, I smell the scent
of juniper and mornings pouring out your pores
across the chest, the nape of the neck. I am full
but I am hungry. I can neither defend nor deny my greed.
I want you to build me a home along your ribs where
in idle hours I may pick a song or write a poem.