Foraging for the purpose, the point
of our desire. Quenched so quickly,
Yes, the yearning holds more fire.
Such heat! Doesn’t it defeat the purpose,
The target, the goal of consummation? Sweet soul eaten like dessert, no hesitation.
A dire, empty bowl scraped – now inert. Serene is the tongue holding that lingering flavour.
Is it the yearning or consumed desire we savour?