written for a Leeds Savage Club Writers' Group task of the same title:
We stood together on Saturday morning,
while you drank coffee in my kitchen,
and we unpacked the contents of the box...
I reached in first, past the day-jobs, and the name-tags
and the novelty socks,
and I pulled out that curve in your back,
(the one that someone should tell you about...)
...and I explained its beauty.
We examined it together, its gentle line,
and I counted the notches in your graceful spine,
before you reached in again,
and pulled out my hair and my eyes.
You held them up and showed them to me,
the way that you see them;
you told me to watch the fire dancing;
and to breathe the heaven...
So I pulled out all your points of pleasure,
each line, and scar, without hesitation,
and we unpacked all our blemishes,
with joy and admiration...
You revered the parts that no one sees,
and marvelled at them only as pieces of me, while I worshipped
the damage that makes you, you...
...cuts, and roughness...and dust-dry hands...
all the things that make you a man and ensure you fulfil,
and we agreed, together:
the contents of the box were beautiful.