Desire

From the tips of my outstretched fingers

you act like you play the part of water,

yet you don't play.

Look, you say, this is thirst: I offer you something

to drink

and you pretend like you have never drank,

reaching for little airwaves above a hot road surface

to pause for a while.

If you would desire me that much, you say,

I would play the part of love for you

and you would pretend as if you never had loved.

Just like it would be, if you would be little particles

of death, you say, if I'd play the sun for you and you

had suffered night after night.