My body told the truth  

long before I did—  

in the way my breath  

caught when you entered the room,  

in the way my pulse  

betrayed me  

every time you said my name.  

I tried to reason with it,  

to quiet the heat  

that carnation without permission,  

to pretend the shiver  

was just cold air  

and not you.  

But the body doesn’t lie.  

It knows what it wants  

before the mind  

can form the sentence.  

It close in  

when I tell it to stay still,  

it softens  

when I tell it to be strong,  

it reaches  

even when I swear  

I’m not reaching back.  

I’ve learned to trust it

the truth beneath the truth,  

the instinct that refuses  

to be reasoned away.

– E. J.