Loveless Are the Romantics

If I took my heart out of its cage you would think: "ah offal, just meat, fresh blood if I eat it quickly." . Crazily, you call 'need' love, you're crazed, heartless, a cannibal, a crippled dog baying at a savage moon. Limp tongues turn to syrup eventually. Clearly these bodies are ravaged temples, apes howl about its holy alter. And yet, cherries are flesh, their sweetness is in the hunger. I drink and remember your face, it is a landslip, pushed by one iron gray hair. We are mad, madly unhitched, we hang from a mirage of love, dangle from its limp sinews, lips puckered, ever willing to name the unnamable, what it is not.