Love Poem after learning orgasm comes from the Greek orgasmós, derivative of orgân which means to swell
God bless my sense of this is our
and fucker, gutted, gut. Boy, let
me get that subjectivity
again. My legs around your back
so you can carry me. Just land
me where my feet can’t hit the ground.
I’ll be the part of us that dangles.
My crooked teeth are weary of their sockets.
They’re falling out in mounds as if my mouth
has held a hundred mouths. My hoodie’s pockets
can’t hold them all. Tomorrow, they’ll go south
in padded envelopes addressed to no
one at nowhere, enough forever stamps
to take it there and back—because I know
there’s nothing to a molar’s bite, no clamps
tight in the jaw to chew something to raw
again, to crude integument to spit
aside to save something to savor. I saw
a gullet so voracious it could fit
a demonym and all the gist of where
a woman lost too much of her to bare.
When Mary tells me, Joseph, it’s a son
by someone you can’t see, I say believe
this. My throat itches this, this someone done
did told you wrong, this which cannot conceive
omnipotence, since, clearly, it can’t see
me taking down box trees with just an eye-
……….These here, these are hands. That there’s a free-
standing wood carving of a scene where I
come in my hand and Mary walks in when
I finish, thinking, I do know a man;
he, too, is God’s favor. A steer. A hen.
………………….I know there is no mark that can
carve noises out of her. There’s magnitude
within a given. Then there’s magnitude.