monkish

i thought you were fond of me
not in a caring way or anything
but an amused whimsical effuse

i am ashamed wanting true selflessness to yield fruit
for selflessness should not want
but i cant help my silent cry
or restrain the beast of more

i'm a perverted wanna-be-monk
spreading seeds to seep into hopefully karmic juice
wishing my suffering opens irises wide with involuntary curiosity

oh how that desire violates my mantra
and thus without obligation
your silence is as pious as rain

but if the debris of my lust
found its way to your eyes
as mind eats words
am i not devoured by you
as fertilizer to cruel ego?

do you not tingle with power?
from hapless reaching
do you not snack upon frantic, eager eyes?

not even the wake of a ‘shoo!’
or a breeze from your causal hand
but silence your bullet of choice

left on the stoop
ringing an unreachable doorbell
as darkness delivers intent of a long, still, and chilly night
i ferment in frayed robes