She has become the hollow room
of this house with its black throat
Her hands are holding
a porcelain cup
I’ll use this truth later, but here,
this stealing is done with
fingers, even ones holding
keys of doors
still
this is a borrowing, I will
borrow your hands, I will
place them
on
my chest, I will
be the wanky fucker
who discerns
my own enjambment, I will
strip the face off
this poem
until
it bleeds gently
into this
patient tongue
of sea lapping smooth the rocks,
gulping down
the swimmers who can’t
