Who I am

As much as we may hold
taste to be a divine delicacy
whose manifestation is abstract,
how do we know we don't drink
the sweat of angels in our morning
coffee.

As much as I may love the feel of man
across my fingertips
and the rippling biceps over me-who am I to
tell the soul she is a gender.

Why is it we praise the sun more than the moon;
or sight over sleep-
it is the fatalistic nature of our minds-
do I choose eternity or this moment with you?

All I know is even if
my body is just the shadow of who I am
my choice is to sip hot chocolate with you,
wrapped up in the cold night
whilst the angels smile at us from the stars:
we will soon become who we are.