All this talk in every way a mine
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.

You were catching my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs

with friends spent, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped covet stirs and how

when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the propriety place, you said, is hope misplaced

or no desire at all. But I clout, in my dreams I day-dream,
in my dreams I do not hope.

Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades for the honour as victim of our anterior to war.

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