It’s implied, the violence that threatens to spill beyond the boundary of my control. Fingers curling to fist before relaxing.
Hunger is the voice of need. It speaks to absence, but is not absent.
It is a knot, a dull ache in search of sustenance; it is an edged invitation, a sharp pang in search of prey.
I learn the language of hunger through abstinence. I resolve, make practice of restraint.
Leashed is too coy a word.
It is so easy to romanticize a state of human deprivation: we fast for purity, an expunging in search of clarity. But there is a wildness to this state and it calls to mind bestial devouring.