Deep down

Craving is dangerous,
it doesn't fit into my head.
Even when I try to savor the sensation,
craving just feels so unfamiliar to me.

I'm no stranger to finding myself fantasizing about other lands,
other people, other worlds,
but never for something so tangible,
never for someone so close and simultaneously distant,
and yet, here I am, craving.

I acknowledged the devil in me a long time ago,
sometimes it looks at me through my reflection in the mirror,
sometimes through the tears that I shed,
and even more regularly, in the fist that hits the wall.

What a perfect geometry my body will form entangled with yours,
fading together with the many faces that we show to the world.
What suspicious art that dances in the wind,
like the smoke of my cigar, which I crave enormously,
the same as you.