Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity, when I give I give myself. - Walt Whitman

I believe in the flesh and the appetites;
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from;
The scent of these arm-pits, aroma finer than prayer;
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.

And your very flesh shall be a great poem

Something long preparing and formless is arrived and formed in you,
You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.
The threads that were spun are gathered, the weft crosses the warp, the
pattern is systematic.
The preparations have every one been justified, The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments — the baton has given the signal. The guest that was coming — he waited long, for reasons — he is now housed; He is one of those who are beautiful and happy — he is one of those that to look upon and be with is enough.