I’d like to know if there are flowers there
and snail filled soil and weeds needing
plucking and I’d like to know if there is only
the memory of a body, of fucking and
dancing and laughing and the expansion of
lung with each intake of air
and it doesn’t really seem fair, does it, if we
can’t have any of that again,
if it’s more a case of “well shit, I’m a soul”
and goodbye to fingers, toes, early morning
teeth brushing and can we go back to the
Can we go back to morning breath and
morning wood, to sheets thrown to the floor
and thigh cramps galore and howls and the
wet patch, God even the wet patch, imagine
never having any of that ever again.
I’d just like to know, you know?
I’d just like to know.
- November 2016