It begins earlier

We speak as if our fortune lies  
in the lines to Morrisons,
in radios, cars,  
the way our throat box  
wobbles unsure  
but it's so much more,  
so much more than the city you live in,  
your favourite street,  
the music you play.  
It's so much more  
than the horns of your station,  
where you work and whether  
you have a degree.  
It's so much more
 the way you were brought in,  
how your Mother played with your hair,  
it's so much more  
what warped and what made  
every fibre of your being  
before you were nine.  
It's so much more about the undercurrents  
of predestined time  
than whether you like that restaurant  
or whether your day was fine  
or whether you were happy  
or whether you lied  
or whether your body  
fits just inside mine  
or whether your hands flutter  
under the weight of my skin  
or whether we dance,  
or know how to begin.  
It's whether you were held  
and if you are still wanting,  
how you feel inwards,  
how you process your learning