There lies a profound art

In that which eludes you,

In that which keeps a mystical distance,

Leaving you curious, aching, chasing,

Scratching, clawing, starving, begging

For the pear upon its tree so high,

To which you know you cannot climb,

But it taunts you like a tickling tick,

Sucking the blood of your desire—your life

You reach out to touch, grabbing at vapor

Vapor and never that which you lust

Oh, but still, you lust

It’s painful how you lust

It’s a scythe that slices your restraint

You give way, crawling, though your muscles ache

But still, you slide the bare skin of your belly

Across the abrasive sands of your obsession,

Dragging now with teeth, for lack of arms,

Your broken body toward a mirage