Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?
Maybe if we move like animals
the rest will come after.
Maybe if we move our limbs like this –
our tongues like that –
we can become a giant, pulsing muscle
that only persists on memory
Maybe if we lock the doors every night,
turn off the stove,
say I love you, brush our teeth,
it will become habit.
Maybe if we brush up against each other
until we are raw, bleeding, just a pile of red sinews
we will look at what is left of each other and think
How could anyone but the creator of this monster have love for it?