if the man with the finest handwriting
etched his first cursive “i”
on a parchment kissed by centuries,

i’d call your body the curve his wrist remembers the longest

if the world’s best artist
sketched the rarest bloom ever to bloom,

i’d call your body the first line that made his hand believe in god

if the greatest pianist
played his most impossible piece,

i’d call your body the treble clef his fingers ache to return to

if the purest voice ever born
sang a lullaby for the child he prayed into existence,

i’d call your body the note that made his voice falter,
just once, from beauty.

and if love could ever be folded
into shape, named, softened,

i’d call your body the heartbeat mine borrowed
when it forgot how to be pious