‘Full Body’

Up and down and up again, in the tireless circuit of your sin tax,

Consideration climbs the risks of clutching onto time like

fingers dipping through a sticky mirror just to hug their sisters.

It’s shamefully simple, like the dimwitted parts of Dickens –

fire off a fire-alarm even if you’re the only witness. Let the sag

of your belly and your back be the breeding-patch for flashbacks,

whilst allowing curiosity never quite to linger into love; rather

carry through the underwater somersault until your eyes roll back

Into their corner-pockets. Then go ahead and believe your luck.

There’s no point in appointments – I don’t know where else the panic

goes. Your standing is mapped in mummy’s rags and run alongside

all those smacks in habit’s creases. To all of which, I swoon shruggingly

and pray in shorthand that my images dissolve like modern tablets

Into forthcoming trips and flavoured aches tonight. The distance is doubled

down and the skin of your soul is serrated with quiz questions.