Forgive me. I’ve been spending time with fools,
with lean assassins and the merely mean.
I check my shoes for scorpions each morning.
I had forgotten this sweet sting: a meeting,
coffee at the riverside , a well-grown man
with an ear for wit, and nothing but the truth.
If I lean forward more than usual
in a brand new dress
we both know why.
If you take off your sweater
with a needless flourish
we both recognise the shape of you.
This afternoon I walked a different riverbank.
I wore you in my throat, my ankles, in my bones
for hours. It’s nothing, everything; it counts.