Anything i love i devour - men, butter mochi, prestige TV. i stay up far too late consuming all of the above.  like a flame burning through brushwood, driving ruthlessly toward completion. needing to stop but lacking  the willpower. plume of uneasy regret after. i wish i knew the art of savoring, of rationing things to make  them last longer. meting out moments. the artistry of crumbs. what i would give for a better bound appetite,  to love safely from a distance.