The craving is about something deeper
like biting knuckles and intuiting shapes
with the sides of your fingers, not the tips,
admiring the black night sky and light pollution
that drives you to drive along the county roads
whipping the wind with your cheekbones
your ears howling with tinnitus and deviant thoughts
your face flushed with exhilaration and
your capillaries with chill
letting the momentum roll you to a stop
blood only bubbles that way once
the first time you fall in love with life
something in those cornfields glowed brightly
your eyes
and the silhouette of a broken tree before a full moon
and then it was dawn
the rosy dawn of an interminable day
your soul caves in the sunlight like a hibernating vampire
stifled under the weight of a coffin of realization
that he may never taste the night again
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