I know the things you know
before you know them.
How there is a wholeness to love,
a sometimes painful surrender of
the tender bits, the gory bits.
The pieces you hide in still, quiet rooms
inside of your chest.
But I know that quiet can break as easily
as bones can, that wholeness is a
rather overwhelming idea.
I know that you cannot imagine
loving anyone or anything
that much, that you are afraid of sinking
into that warm, unfamiliar place
where I wait for you,
holding these bits and pieces under my tongue.
I let them dissolve,
let them turn into chemicals,
let my blood carry them to my heart.
I let them take root,
they become something they never were before.