Every time I’ve caught you, airborne or bedridden, I’ve…
Tried to invent a new way of holding you. And while hundreds there were,
cradles, clasps, passions, pietas,
more often than not my curls and swoons and tenderness
forced
brought me so close, so deafeningly in
that you ended up holding me…
You know how:
true inventors are just failed Gods?
your folds I cannot fathom?
your fathoms I cannot hold?
Well, old timer…
Won’t you carry me to bed?
