Lush and sensual. That's how I can best describe this poem. The imagery is very intimate with actions that cannot be performed except in utter closeness ("Sweet hook / that has snagged me", "You have cut me open", and "Pick my bones clean"). Likewise, the word choices evoke the senses -- sight ("a feast on the Sultan's table"), taste ("where thirst / thrives in the salt marshes"), touch ("you have cut me open"). But what is it about, really? I find that even this is open to several interpretations. On one hand, it feels like an erotic poem, especially in its rhythm and its flow, the rising action evoking an orgasm and "la petite mort" which follows afterwards; but on the other, it can also be read as an "ars poetica", a statement on the act of poetry: art has captured the artist and laid her soul bare. But really, why not both? Perhaps this double meaning really means that poetry is lovemaking.
And, as a counterpoint, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a picture of what I do at work. I wrestle with device compatibility issues on specialized hardware, typically involving customized driver software, almost all poorly documented. Yes, I am deliberately being obscure.
Such is life.