It is difficult to scribe you, transfer
your etchings from my mind.
Yet, I know that you are the legacy
dictated before I was born.
Some deity’s hand transported
into capsules embedded in my loins.
Burning through the length
of me you stretched open
my portal and thrust from ethereal’s
serous coat and became
the antagonist, the protagonist,
the main character of my purpose.
I breathe and live off your essence,
you are the air that balloons my lungs,
the flexor and vexer that expands
and contracts my heart.
You are much bigger than
macrocosm, and sustain me
more than the “victuals
for my sustenance”
of which Swift daringly wrote.