Still and not the same

Still and not the same

 

It’s still and it’s not the same

 

The same body, the same eyes, the same beard, the same balls.

The same doing-it-late, having to wake and face

this life-conundrum again.

 

The same body, the same brain, the same trust –

something I’m gonna truss,

hold up, treasure

 

and I’ll never never forget one bare-skinned sentence

my goddess-grandmother said to me in the days before instant porn

and don’t-turn-me-off TV.

 

She said that what she did with Grandad

she imagined no one had done before.

 

You could scream at the romance of it –

to say that nearing eighty!

And they weren’t contained –

 

in our old family videos – fast forward to the usually unseen end

to see them cavort naked, then my baby aunty appears on the scene.

Is that repressed / free?

 

It’s not and it’s still the same

 

Your same body, your same eyes, your same beard, your same balls

and I’m sure – as far as I can be sure – that you’re

not gonna leave me behind, for a less sagging me.

 

It’s leg-haired, sick-bugged, experimental, warts, skin and

all frantic and steady and seldom and plenty,

exacting and easy sexuality.