Friday, 2 March 2012



How long do I have to lie here before
you fall asleep? It's contortion for two
on this sofa and my arm is zombie-sore
under your weighted, waiting head. We're through
the calls and bawling, the clenched cot bars
and kamikaze commitment for a drop
to the floor. In terms of progress so far,
this is an armistice. Your eyes have stopped
scanning mine for signs that I might try
to extricate myself from our pact while
by pats your hands sculpt the strangeness from my
wrinkling face. Little man, you can trust I'll
stay the distance. This part, I wouldn't miss -
after all, how long will you hold me like this?

by Magnus Buchanan

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