make peace

A question I can't answer

or maybe I just don't want to-

it's like the waking up too early,

car-shaking, howling winds,

sugar and cream in black coffee,

and the pleasure of eating till sick.

When asked, the answer unfolded

as naturally, as soft, as intimate 

as flower petals, labias caressed,

blossoming, water color sunrises,
the coil and curl of flaring skirts,

and a farmer wiping his brow.

So ask again, only you can ask:

Why am I here? Why am I with you?

It's just like how Haiti nuzzles into

the Dominican Republic, and it rains

in the rain forest, and my heart 

and my body needed your heart and

your body, so I'll rest and not ask more.