Ravaged insatiate
I speak with the birthright
Of stars, their veil of truth
Thin as crisp desire among
Thieves robbing my intuition
Of believing I can live
Without you – like a glance
Across an empty room filled
With doubt, it reliably seats
My appetite for us to remain
Draught to an admission
Of my own exorcism, a
Purging of fears that
Permeates this pinnacle
Of self-deception,
Lies in wait for its next
Victim a cross of benediction
This canon of our crisis
Lays firmly at the feet of
My thirsting love only for you.

© K. James Ribble