Emily I am
your illegitimate
son
I wandered in
whilst you
were closing the windows
attracted by the buzz
of life, the white
intensity of your cotton dress
needing some
of that heat for
arc welding
these images
did you not
see my picture, when —
hey presto — abracadabra
it fell
down from amongst
those cake recipes
stuffed on
the very top shelf
so you and
I united, bonded
connected
in that
we both took
a tumble, have
the same snake-sinuous DNA
as we sign-
language to each other
across the stillness, you
wonder at my
white skin
that absorbs rather
than reflects breaking
the laws of
physics, whose
sexual mentality is
all a
swirl
and here we are
and nothing yet you
have found to interpose us
the front room
and the boudoir if boudoir
there be
so in tune to
your slant rhyme, everything
forsaking closure.
