Breaking Bread

By a simple madness I am
marked out by a thought of love

tucked tight into my armpit
hard and wizened as stale bread

secreted too deeply to be shown.

But there is no one but you.
I walk around regardless of the self

I thought I was, and my past
shucks off easily as clothes.

I am a yes without a comma

who, marked down for love,
stands here in front of you.

Hunger and solicitude: love
has no other dictionary.

And what else can my words be?

Your smile recalls my power.
Your words provoke my silence.

And all that has happened
still means to happen: your face.

Now I stand in front of you. Eat me.