Poem: June 21, 2019

Basic

This, then, is life:
Our lungs filling with
every deep breath in
the dark and quiet
moments, the rhythm
in our chests. It is the
colors and movement
we perceive, the sounds
that make their meaning
somewhere in our minds.

It is the heat we carry
like an extra weight
and the cold we turn
ourselves away from.

It is the taste of cool
water and the sense of it
as we drink. It is the echo
in our stomachs and
the tearing and chewing
of food. It is swallowing

and the emptying
of bladder and bowels,
the unacknowledged
pleasure of evacuation.

It is bruise and laceration
and loss of blood, sharp
and dull pain, swelling
and dehydration, the
formation of scabs.

It is the tears that
well up and slide down.

It is the narrowed focus
of sexual attraction and
pursuit, the pleasure
of proximity, perspiration
and pheromones, saliva.
The engorgement
of genitalia. Exertion.

All else is constructed.
All else is negotiated.
All else must be decided upon.