You Aren't Ready

You aren't ready for me.

Your arms are

folded, crossed

against your heart.

You aren't ready for

someone

who is hungry,

sitting open-legged,

holding her spoon

while she

watches you

sleeping.

You aren't ready

for someone

who has spent

years filling

her breasts with

life-bursting

good love.

Alive-good love.

There are women

I am sure who

can love you

well without

taking you

into the jungle to

hunt for your life,

for your love.

But not me.

I can't love you

well without

saying this: let's eat.