They are right

They are right who say “Love is hounded to the ends of the earth”

Naked in its plumes

If you prick us prick, do we not bled?

The bed shuffling in a back room, Badly made
And withdrew into its secret

Without holding anything back

But our Theology is sumpin viva voce

We tire of orbiting, only called upon

I crooked my finger and beckoned me to me

Despite my coaxing
Cheating my tourist’s face

Scratches and whines at the door

I don’t enjoy cornering like this

The bed completely bedraggled

I’ll cottage you but don’t imagine I enjoy

Depths out of which one does not rise again

Do you like more the instant of waking or that of falling asleep?

And this would be a kind of proof?, blinking in the dark of its belly

A holiness that resilience lowly stole me to, slowly

And wait with bited breast

Sorry to keep you waiting

Humming to console me

When were we our own solarity

At this intimate scale
It scratched my heart and made it itch but I

I resolved not to tell anyone of it

and to whisper the secret in the hollow of a tree

This tattling restored my naivete

At the crest of the rising

Someone jogged by, I thought, Get Heart Smart