authentic desire
wells up from deeper trenches, i think;
when you come around,
i am merely interested, affectionate.
the body sets its own course.
in twenty-three hours
or as many years,
i can demonstrate the passage, the waning
of legitimate love,
the creative campaign of craving
launched by a pulsing heart.
in questioning authenticity i have learned
to press my palms against your chest,
seek a heartbeat,
seek an iron ore in your ego.
these things are real enough,
i should doubt you further?