CHOMP

aka, "PRIDE"

I forgot what wanting was,
When the pink loveseat appeared.
And she came for me,
And I did not have to reach for anything —
Like the holiness of the morning.

The Lion ate all my fears,
To forge me all the way.
Chomp. CHOMP. A champion.
Indivisible and intoxicated,
By the riches of saying her name.

At the altar I felt the lightening,
A suddenness of the longing,
The invitation to the house warming,
Where I found all of my belongings—

I remember what having is.