Even in memory it clicks like a key in me, 

a tulip opening a river.

 

I am tired of my body being romanced in Donne.

But yours, how rare for it to be beautiful.

 

There is Sharon Olds’ snail and Lorna Crozier’s carrots.

But nothing is sufficient to trace that moment 

 

when I take your perfect stem between my lips

or you are inside me, thicker than the darkness

 

that surrounds us and I want you deeper & deeper

(I know it’s crazy) until you have unlocked an ocean

 

in the forest and I can’t remember anything but 

how you move me, how I am beyond myself finally,

 

riding the fierce velvet of your flesh.