We wander, frantic in the marketplace of promises,
hands clutching at the glittering vials of salvation.
“Here, this magic pill,” they say,
“will mend the cracks, seal the void,
and silence the ache that hums in your chest.”

We swallow hope, bitter and sweet,
but the emptiness echoes louder still,
a hollow drumbeat of yearning we cannot quiet.
The years slip through our fingers like sand,
each grain a moment spent chasing illusions.

We bow to the idols of quick fixes,
blindfolded by the shine of their certainty.
Yet, the pain whispers in the silence,
a persistent reminder of truths uncounted,
of shadows we refuse to face.
The hole in our hearts grows no smaller,
no elixir, no mantra, no fleeting promise can fill it.

Strip me bare, not of clothes, but of pretense,
lay me open with the sacred blade of your truth.
Let your words graze my skin like teeth,
your questions sinking deep, leaving marks I’ll crave.

Slide into the spaces between my thoughts,
press against the heat of my unspoken desires.
Stroke the places I’ve hidden,
the ones that ache for the friction of your understanding.

Speak to me in the language of hunger and cosmos,
each syllable a kiss, each phrase a ******, a sacred chant.
Let your voice drip with the nectar of divinity,
until I am trembling, undone, begging for more.

Make love to my mind with no restraint,
ravage me with your curiosity,
consume me with the  primal fire of your spirit,
and leave me gasping, raw, and utterly yours.