In my haste to love, I forgot that
The slower the feeling as it
Moves
Across my body, the more I can see
The objects themselves, presented by the senses
As objects of my own making
And the part I am dissatisfied with
Becomes essential to the dish, inviolable
And loved deeper
For its experience

Where I fear, my heart
Beats a pace into my head
That captures my body
And I walk walk walk
With forgetting, my arms
Trying to fly

But when the ground meets the sun
I am joined, the pants fit the ankles,
The deep moans round
The oil is set in earth
Where my feet can feel

Written this Sunday morning on Orchard Street.