Your Watch


Your watch that your father
would have bequeathed,
you bought at K-Mart.
Meshed silver links; it’s manly.
It tic tocs, brotherly,
to your heartbeat,
strapped to the life you wish,
breath gain and loss,
shadowing your somatic stimuli.

Almost always adhering,
though daily stranded by the bath,
sloughed off.

When we make love,
do wheels rapidly circulate,
springs link with cogs?

I touch the band
of sheathed muscles in your arm,
put my hand across
its communing, inquisitive face.

16 May 1995

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