As much

No, love.
Lately
I crave
as much
a quiet
companion's
touch
as much
more than
your addict's eyes'
flat succubus shine
as much
more than
your lips'
impersonal hunger
as much
more than
your constant
blunt craving.

I'd rather
as much
more than
that this morning
we only sat
as we used to
in a sunny kitchen
your feet on my knees
drinking coffee
reading newspapers
and talked quietly
or talked at all.

Lately
I dread
as much
more than
each night's
repeated shocks
as two bodies
arc in the dark
lit in coronas
of their own
electricity.

I never thought
as much
more than
until now
that I'd see
sex as a dead end
and yes, yes, yes
you are beautiful
but your obsession
and compulsion
no longer compels
no longer holds
as much attraction,
no love.