Thursday, September 6

For Those Who Come at Half-One

in the late August lazy
afternoon &
lay splayed on a
Leviticus mattress
pushing
a hand’s weight about
concertina’d wrist
into the holiday of most laboured hips

while the world whole at work

You —knotting short hair into
articulate curls of cinema popcorn

—work towards yr body’s sawtooth
& most heavenly noise
as I
move past yr front door
on leave

I pause

&
smile

as yr last breaths
breach the swollen
semibreves
of beautiful agony;

you pant sideways
, putting yr back’s sweat
against the sheets for me to be

half’s rosy-cheeked as you.

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