Not epigraphs with an explanation of what they read,
And not a menu of what I will eat,
But spirituality the heavens send,
Energy from the Creator and the Truth.

When I see or hear,
Smell or taste,
Or touch
At the level of sensations —
I do not exist,
But consume
What someone has sacrificed.
In agonies someone suffered
And we endure.

I do not merely breathe
And do not merely live,
Languidly or with passion
I tear from myself,
What someone gifted
I keep and treasure,
What is directed from hearts
I embrace and kiss.