For All of That

I knew you when you were a toss of naked limbs –
to each of which I once aspired to sing hymns –

as if you were a psyche brought to sudden light:
as mad – exorbitantly necessary – right –

as any spirit I could ever hope might free
the last voluptuous raw secrecies in me.

And so you seemed to be – until one factor,
unexpected, loomed as true: you were an actor –

good at seeming capable of making love: unreal.
For all of that, sweet toss of limbs, I learned to feel.

.