This summer we’ve lost each other
in healthy heat.
I hang about all day
straining the flesh of my apple to its core
and singing to you through its juice.
Whilst holding on to young weight
I poke my arse in the air,
let myself labour in your lap
like a puppy that’s found something
it shouldn’t have.
I name myself
Lola the sloppy boxer,
always prodding at something buried
deep in dirt.
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