Muscle Memory

 

 

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me?

John Milton, Paradise Lost

 

gentle-to-the-touch

 

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?

 

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