After the bath
you lay on the bed
exposing layers
of beautiful washed skin
we both stared at in surprise;
long strands of hair, shiny and damp
under the yellow sunlight,
fell over your shoulders:
they made two exclamation marks
with your stiffened nipples.
And gently you fell asleep
at my side;
while I, my sweet, stayed awake
all night
who had your uncovered beauty
to think about,
your nipples troubling me
in the night
like two mysterious asterisks.
I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes. I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over. I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong. And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions. I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely. It's what we do.
What an amazing writer he was. It is interesting to me that he was in the same generation as my father, died within days of him in fact, yet they would have been like aliens to each other had they ever met.
ReplyDelete? Please feel free to expand on that....
ReplyDeleteDo tell what your father's view would be.
I love Layton's poems, and this one mmmmmmmm reminds me of real life.