CARNAL KNOWLEDGE

1 5 2 Y C A R N A L K N O W L E D G E J A M E S H A T C H Really, you have never known, Or your body can’t recall, The kind of love that is all Flushed skin, tongue, grip, and searching moan. You think the fire of lust is dead, But then, for you it was never really much in flame. Your body was not to blame. Mostly it was ‘‘just in your head,’’ This unwillingness to try And trust someone to touch you. It scared you so much, you Felt that you might die If ever your tight-petalled love Should blossom in the body’s strength, Another’s stretched along your body’s length, Bending below or curving above. So love became reflected light, cloud, and air, That should be rivers rushing, thunder, roots in dirt, Something that lives intensely and can hurt, Something more than you can bear. Does water ask where it should flow, Or lightning pause to think? No. And unstoppable years, like waves, rise and sink, Coming to rest down there where bodies go. ...