My Amour
I’m growing armour, my amour.
Thick leather and scurf is all over my body
replacing my skin, now creeping along the walls of my lungs.
By degrees my breath grows numb.
I wake up and my head is enveloped in tin.
I slide back a little door, and there you are sleeping
and I close it again.
My mouth rattles at the grating. If you are to hear me
I must shout everything.
I clank hopelessly when we go walking, like a terrible
broken engine, pistons frothing. My amour you take my rusted hand
and lift it gently, not minding.
Thick leather and scurf is all over my body
replacing my skin, now creeping along the walls of my lungs.
By degrees my breath grows numb.
I wake up and my head is enveloped in tin.
I slide back a little door, and there you are sleeping
and I close it again.
My mouth rattles at the grating. If you are to hear me
I must shout everything.
I clank hopelessly when we go walking, like a terrible
broken engine, pistons frothing. My amour you take my rusted hand
and lift it gently, not minding.