Strength of Love
Wedged in the waves of suede, sinking;
Wearing your trademark beige; weathered with stains.
Strands of cotton shimmer on the scalp and
Scratch at the eyes. This is the massacre of age.
I can smell the piss. It rubs against me
In a wall of warmth when I kneel to the floor
To push on your slippers, fighting the moon-like
Grin of your yellow claws.
For a moment, on a knife’s edge
Your eyes and mine connect. The juices
Glitter with memories, and my love,
My flesh my blood.
Copyright © Phil Naylor | Year Posted 2005
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