Emptying

My appetite is boundless
hungry as bears
I could swallow you whole
and still have room for galaxies.

One taste and I will know
if you're a fake, like diet soda,
like all the rest.
Fill my up for twenty minutes
then leave me craving
more than before.

They say that after forty
the soul yearns for sustenance,
which neither breast nor brain nor body can satisfy.

Yet I am ten years younger
And done with all the dieting
on shoulds, untils, and fullness on fear.
One taste of you and I stop,
caught with a lump in my throat
and a clue
That my sustenance will come
from emptying myself to you.