Circle

Not one but two.
Not two alone--
two pairs.

Eyes, cheeks, hands,
handfuls
of my hair.

Arms-full of this flesh
this food I've fed,
the meaty

sweet
parasites
of blood and tissue

indiscriminate delight
wreckless rapture
more than multiple

no reason, rhyme
nor small symmetry.
Not even the artifice of sanity.

_