Hunger

Sweet succulent goodness drips down his chin like fire-tinged honey.
Desire swarms like bees on a rampage across my heated skin.
My fingertips brush across his arms tracing the ruins of the past.
Black and blue with disease.
The world at its lowest.
What does it mean to ache?
To crave, to covet?
To itch for something thats only for observation when each and every pore
Screams in Madness?
I stare at his skin stretched taut across a desert of parched bones
And envision a world where hunger is more than no food.
Wide eyes and open mouths ache for more than the simple crumbs sidled in between the grains of sand.
A world of greed.
His cheekbones that stick out like giant boulders amongst the rivers of tears from his eyes
And stained lips tell a story.
My eyes wonder down to look at the sticks layered in flesh attached to narrowed hips
And makes me question how I ended up in his arms captivated by his...his...
What is it, pity?
Or just a need to help?
Is this what it feels like to be hungry?
To want what is only beyond your fingertips,
Your very touch?
Its like being helpless as well as hopeless as you stare the fate of the world in the face
And only can observe its destruction from behind tinted frames.
Half-hearted 200 nuclear ton bullets are nothing compared to humanity's greatest desire slash Achilles heel dipped in...hunger...
Through him I have seen what it means to ache, to crave.
Is it me looking in the mirror?
Am I the one that needs help?
Do I have someone  out there who pities the starvation in my eyes?
Or am I ALONE...?