You are the only hug
I have had this week
Well, the kind of committed clasp
Which people use to hold back each other’s grief or fear
You kiss my hair with toothless open mouth.
5am, stirring hands, you’re here
Round with routine to begin the work
Revealing the angles of my face
Pin the words ‘hygienic’ ‘sensible’
As if before I was rage and dirt.
-
And yet my hands complicit in the act
Helping you to set the scene
You come in packs, but only one
It takes to turn my being to
‘Profession’
Sometimes elastic like that kind of shame
Held together flowers
From the petrol station.
Now we’ve broken natures gesture
From torrent to taper
Expression into
Poise
You remove the flowing confession of my years
Like a fist can crush
A bloom
Can
Stop a voice
And yet I let you round my wrist
Against the veins whose soundless mumble
Propelled these same limbs at fifteen months
To reach out, asking for a bobble.
