Desire
When the day dawns pointless and insecure,
the underbelly of the beast beckons like the smells
that rise from mama's kitchen, in swirls like the water
around Ahab's whale, to waltz with thoughts
too dark to speak even to a faceless lover,
determined to ride forever the impulse to extinction,
aching for submission; desire in all directions
calls with the Sirens' song.
© Copyright 2005 Don Anderson (UN: ordinarymystic at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.