Rowan Tate

i walk into being like the sky

in dawn-blush, dissolving—

a coming of a kind. where you touched me i am

animated—anesthetized—trying to put a name to

that punctuating of feeling, of self, of

every flake of bone pixilating into

crisp-cutting color, phosphorescent.

i am paying attention to the way my

body says its colors—the

alchemy of touch—a heart

inside me— the summer of breath on

this shower-soft skin, thawing,

turning my fingers

into a way of saying a name.

she has made me her birth canal, i am

carrying her into the world, in worship, the way god

plants a flower. i vow to love her

in infinite forms,

in fragility and innocence,

ravaged and redeemed.