What Could Hope to Account for Desire and Why We Remain Either Angry or Ashamed of Its Intricate Trajectories Through Our Desirous Selves and Others?

I've never encountered any me invulnerable
To hungers. Satisfaction and its lineaments

Remain as inscrutable as gravity gratified.
Matter curves spacetime; spacetime moves matter. If it matters.

Nothing in the mathematics explains away desire,
Nor the origin of a desire for ruling desire,

Which is never so simple as overruling others.
Everywhere there are rules there are desires that are shameful,

And everywhere there is shame, there are rules like spacetime curves
To tell shame where to move, what plums must fall, what falling means.

None of this accounts for any of this, yet we remain,
Every last one of us accountants, the first confession.

The fire flickers in the grate. The sun sets behind the lake.
Mother and child nap on the couch, and all this curves away.