Declining Oxygen

We could use a few more people
Incapable of love. We could
Do with a little less passion
Before you explode. Shh, before

You explode in passion, passion
Has value. Hush, yes, we admit,
As conduits and jars admit,
Conveyances only exist

For the sake of the substances,
The value of the substances
They convey. We submit, but ask
That you consider what you’ve mixed

Up in us, your clay containers,
Your signed storage technologies,
Not without art even empty.
Passion and love need need and lust,

Flammable fuels, runners of rust,
And what contains them, they corrupt.
You presume destruction trades off
Against desire, that the loveless

Are most likely the dangerous,
Cold-eyed, cold-hearted, beyond trust.
But it’s close to the opposite.
Sleep slows. It’s love that’s consummate.