I want you in all your form—
Viscous and clear as venom;
A hollow carrier, something that’s nothing but the shape
Of that which encompasses it;
If love does have a shape—
If bliss does have a density, that is.
Like a fishing line—a tercet—
Your beginning, your middle, your ending:
You’re interesting all the way through.
Between the smoothness of flared curves
And the bulbed contour of your form
Is a metaphor I only escape through cliché.
Perhaps I should break the vial
Consume you as is—
Swallow the broken shards—
‘Cause there’s no way I can have you
Without first hurting myself.