The thing about loving you

The thing about loving you

Is that it's always,

And it doesn't have a name

It comes from a time

when the universe was nameless;

When language was drunk

By a vacuum of sky, and

Small wet things

Crawled shining from the sea.

Now they pull us

Leather-skinned from the bog.

Try to find your latin name,

To unearth taxonomy in the curve

of my hips. But my

Bones cannot be governed.

In fossil record, they

Are tangled up with yours.

An anthropologist

Describes this as ritual,

(a word for the things

that they don't understand)

But I know you, wordless,

From the ghost of a star;

I stretch my limbs and

Crack the dust from our skin.

I love you, my glad that you told me

My perfect whatever you need