walking home through the woods from the post office i pass an old coworker in a kayak and talk too loudly and scare away the birds he was quietly paddling to go see

i’ve felt hunger
towards you,
in different ways.

many times,
i’ve wanted
your body,
thinking
the pleasure derived from it
might somehow allow me
to feel pleasure in
my own.
that by consuming
you, i
might become
valuable.

now, i eat
your bread made of
holiday magic, ringing
bells many no longer
hear,
i myself struggle
to hear.
and i
feel a shift in
my appetite for
you.
from feast of
flesh to divine kindness
of friendship.

thank you,
for remaining with me.
hunger sometimes
shrinks, its absence,
an allowance to grow.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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