I'VE CRISSCROSSED

your body,
a priest
of pornography
seizing
on each
of your neuron's tits
and sucking
the pleasures
of your offering.
I've traveled a lewdness
knowing no discretion
or boundary.
Once inside,
your blue vein
of decency
I've allowed a subterfuge
of manners.
Your body's gutters
were chastened by angels;
your only accidents
were those of purity;
a river
so relentless
it reeks
from my own
stink.

How often I've memorized
your mistakes,
sifting through
your dark forest
of motives,
your illusions
of logic,
until this old bull elephant
was strung-out & stripped
of everything
except must.

And so
I must follow
it again; I must
follow the smell;
I must search out
your secrets
that light my steps
with an explorer's fever
because as you've defined my greed,
you've also defined my love:
inexhaustible.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2019