Sunday, 12 November 2017

Angustitus

   

Come closer,
lock bodies, nay stay, and lock minds,
every inch of you hidden,
a part I must find in my searching,
a sacred treasure hunt,
arms of memory – dulcedo - a blanket
of trust; nay but trust,
was a long-hunted thing,
you caressed and blessed and slapped with a
sting, and a scratch,
a deep bleeding wound,
on which you held pressure
and nursed me through, pains
of healing, stopped me picking
the scab,
pinned down my hands and pulled me back
by my hair;
not vicious, but kind,
tender;
rough enough;
my best things
in mind, you whispered,
ex animo
as we lay,
in the dark, trusting presence,
like I trusted
the stars above us to stay, 
and the strings in between,
and you, not to injure,
where the scars had been, but protect,
whenever they showed;
in mea bellator, under covers,
now gloriously,
exposed.

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