Hunger

I see you;

Biting into a croissant

On the streets of Montmartre,

Legs long, stem-like

And mesh clad,

The European sun

Highlighting high cheekbones,

Higher up-

It seems-

Because life is good

For you and your lover behind the camera.

But this is only a moment.

I don’t see you spit it out,

Frantic calculations in your head,

Livid. Panicked:

Digestion begins on the tongue

After all.

You’re desperate for a scale,

Desperate for anything, for even

A montmartrois stranger

To grip you by the shoulders,

To tell you

“It’s ok. Nothing has changed.”

But no, we don’t see this.

All we see are

a pair of cheekbones on legs,

And so we like.