I don’t recall where my fingers
landed on her first, only how
they stuttered. As a child, sure
& purposeful, I would wade
in creeks lined with burrows.
Rabbits, the way the meat
must be eaten, torn, devoured,
then washed down. How
the sapid flesh moves. Whiskey
will do. Gulp then swallow.
I thought of God the first time
I kissed a woman, of what
He was seeing, at which point
He looked away, His expressions
& His gestures. Sitting on her bed
I can see the rabbits looking in,
poised, waiting— their backs curved,
their fur catching the morning light.
Inclined to be at ease. Only this.
Them, the definition of natural.