If I was happy in love,

What, if not hunger,

Would fill my inspiration-well?

They sing of heaven above-

What, if not longing,

Would keep me there forever dwell?

I run my eyes across contentment's curves-

They seem so luscious only from afar.

To fill my hands with them would numb my nerves

And douse my soul its bright and burning star.

When I have built my own home-

Food, rest, and comfort-

What use is left of my feet?

If the world no more I roam,

To waste, rot away

Would fill the cause of my heartbeat.

I ogle 'round your silken, perfect nape,

And settle on your pristine, half-turned face.

As long as my love is no more than agape,

Your beck'ning hair will never lose its grace.

i'll be content will longing-

Many times I've seen

The lukewarming of boiling blood;

Souls that lost their belonging,

But unable to rove,

For they have lost love's precious lust.

Like a preying bee too shy of its flower,

I pluck your lingering fragrance from the air.

Pitiful crumbs forever I'll devour,

For lardous feasts consume bright poetry's flair.