Desperate Donation

I can’t believe you, that I’m enough.

That adjective doesn’t even feel good.

I wouldn’t expect you to want that for me,

you won’t even send me your picture.

I know you’re too busy, I know you’re scared.

I won’t get too excited for a letter from London,

don’t worry. I rage at touching you on paper.

Opening the envelope I will feel your toungue

racing across the seam as to hurriedly heal.

It’s not bizarre to bring it in multiple mailbags,

more than one to keep me guessing.

I won’t be insecure in lust for you,

but I can’t resist if you force me.

I do love your soul, stop slapping your chest

to fend off animal invaders to your temple.

I’ll pay, I’ll pay, to kneel at your alter,

donate my debts and my life’s solitude

solace and splendor.

Donate. Donate to me. 

-Grant Durando