Bite Me, or Whatever

Your name fit in my mouth
like a prayer I don’t remember whispering,
somewhere between hunger
and desire.

It was an apple,
ripe and on time.
I didn’t ask where it came from,
but I was glad to see it.
It presses between my lips,
juice slipping
down my wrist.

Before meeting you,
I don’t quite remember
the taste of anything.
And I know better
the weight of consequence,
the weight of every yes
and no,
how a single bite
can change everything.

Now that I’ve tasted you,
I love you past knowing,
though part of me reconsiders,
curious
about the sound of your name.

By this definition,
hunger has its own way
of deciding what stays
and what goes.

Where once I wouldn’t have dared,
now I know
what you feel like in my hands,
how easily you get caught
in my teeth,
how you remind me
of spring,
summer,
and fall.

No matter how fast
my heart beats,
when I bite,
I am whole
hunger silencing
the thought of losing you.