Boy,
I don't mean to sound like a *****,
But take your arm off my shoulders.
This body is mine.

Don't slide your hand up my leg
Like your fingers are lost and looking for a home.
Don't assume that I want to touch you
This body is mine.

This body,
She has climbed mountains
And swam in the ocean,
Walked through forests and crowds and battles
Like you will never know.

If I am hesitant to be with you,
Know that it is not your right
To be offended.

I am striving to reach
Peace
With this vessel I call home,
I will put her first.

I'm not sorry to tell you:
This body is mine.

Your body is a sanctuary

I look at you and
I see the places you have gone

Your body is a spaceship

What textures have traveled beneath your fingertips?
What sights have you seen?

I worship at your temple
Bless me with yourself

I know poetry is about words
and I do dote on words
I treasure digging up just the right one
to lay out on the carpet and let fly

but I wonder if
it would be well
to just dwell
in the heart space
in silence

to hold the object of my anger or irritation
there
in silence
surrounded by blood
and warmth
there
in the anchor of life

I have come to realize
poetry and its cousin prayer
are just as much
about the heart
as words.