I went to the fancy new restaurant yesterday in
They brought me parts of you,
your wrist holding an African Daisy,
your belly button in a dollop of caviar,
your tongue smooth as a lemon slice,
and your lovely blood in a snifter.
I fell back off my chair laughing full with you
and whispered hatred for God.

Now I am taking you out of me,
carving myself out and pulling you
bone by bone
so you may live
even among this heaped wanting
that is never cured,
even among the billions of hearts pumping
and the terror of all that movement.
I’ve packed you a blue sweater
with a hummingbird on it.
I’ve packed you a pair of gloves,
I wouldn’t want those hands to get cold.