A new poem: The Ring

The Ring

for Pete and Ana James

 

 

And if I said a part of me

leapt from a skyscraper

as I took your trembling finger

that would be utterly true,

 

each tiny syllable detonating

in my throat: forsaking;

till death; who had kept

a promise once, a week,

 

then dined out on the story

with whoever would listen.

Your beaming smile had none of it:

Don’t say a word you can’t mean.

 

Sounding twelve and looking it

I jammed the ring onto you,

knowing nothing of honesty

except you honestly looked gorgeous.

 

So believe me when I say

I would stand and face you again,

promise everything a second time,

this time to savour the words.

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