The poem moves like one long sentence that only arrives at its main action in the final lines: "I kiss you." Everything before that is setting and accumulation. The speaker and the person they address are in a rough, cluttered place, a "street of junk," and they seem to be "laying out our want" under "an unknown name," as if their desire is something offered openly but anonymously. The title, "Junkie," hints at craving, though the poem itself feels more tender than desperate.
What stands out is the list of "after" moments: business, a song, great pleasure, and finally the small, humble act of washing feet in warm water. The kiss comes not at a dramatic peak but in a quiet kitchen, after the day's work and enjoyment have settled. The mood is intimate and unhurried. Judging by the imagery, the speaker finds something close to grace in plain, bodily, everyday things, and the kiss feels like a calm arrival rather than a hungry grab.