Killer Wave

It has always been so fashionable for love
To consume us totally with such words as
Consume, flood us with the bare graphics
Of flailing bodies collided, spit and tongue,
And a death toll always never high enough.

I want this violence. But all I get is a bench
Anchored by the sea, some forgetful breeze,
And a stir of movement on the path behind
Which darts your hand a fraction from mine.
You see, there is no such need to be afraid.

It is just two people on a bench, expecting
An impact that is raging away elsewhere.
I only want this because I want the breath
Struck from my lungs. Because I’m vain.
How greedy we remain, between us, for air.