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.