love is in the steel twisted of your crashed cars
into vaguely the shape of the cross
And unswept sweet under weary furniture
where the ants dance like frost
but it drains from the eyes and the world
like water through a gangplank plug
between our shrivelled fingers
in our walking clawfoot tubs
soaked to the bone
its shadow crawls across the world
love is just doing it’s job
like a newborn baby girl
the wall erased around the hall of longing,
there remains its naked doors
that even our gentlest regifted winds
blow open with ecstatic force.
Love is in the fallopian fingers
in every yes and no and almost
that our arks beckon for collection
as the hungry flood of death creeps close
soaked to the bone
its shadow crawls across the world
love is just doing it’s job
like a newborn baby girl
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