You ran your tongue along my
cranial frill without hesitation,
in fact, it was the first thing you went for,
which made me think you were either The One or
poorly in the head. After one or two
unsettling experiences with nutbars I'd come to view
a tot of repulsion as a necessary barometer
of sanity in lovers - the taloned toes,
the steam-shovel jaw, the eyes that closed
sideways - to recoil from those,
at first, meant normal. You, I've come to know,
will never be that; dragging home carrion,
buzzing up to my flat.
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