This urge, like most--
rapacious in appetite,
persistent appeals curling,
coiling hotly inward--
Comes suddenly, silently,
expansive in it's space-filling abilities,
spanning decades to build its arsenal--
Foot soldiers to push forward,
reaching for relief,
rapiers scraping stomach walls,
a gasp, aghast, why wait?--
(and their unfettered companion-swords)
And I am through.
Caving in, the response?
Indulgence, it is true, feels like
feet freed to heat-seek retrieve,
feels like fate.