I am itch-rolled
curled on my side
of our double bed…
I am itch-rolled
curled on my side
of our double bed…
Six collies stitched
an unseen thread
among the table legs
of the public bar…
Your ripped scent
lingered
and returned
off my fingers…
It may have been the 1970s –
it may have been Brighton –
but no one can confirm
when my father saved a pier …/
I am still weighted by the dream
of a house being built
by my long-dead father …/
I removed your top
folding it over the chair
and knelt below you
to your call to prayers…