I lay down my fork.
It was freezing last night, so I held
close to you. Did all humans originate
from the same African woman?
There must have been somebody, you say,
and eat your toast, test your coffee.
What I want to tell you then is how
warm you were, our bodies pressed together, our blood
interchangeable. You would
save me if you could.
But there is my fork on the table,
there is the food in front of me,
and I can touch none of it.
I allow nothing but you inside me.