Firstborn

Inched off the mud-sodden cords
you fell asleep in hours ago
at the food-drunken end of the Eid party
face coated in souvenirs of
lamb biriani and
illicit jammy cakes
alien earth now smudging my
clean-ish candy striped sheets
– MORE WASHING –
You stir and whimper
clutch my face to your sticky one-year-old cheek
to let my weight drag you under again
But this sleep is reluctant
and your closed-eyed smile
contorts the flesh already
squashed by my
invading kiss
and you laugh in an ecstasy of touch
My every atom laughs in synchrony:
happiness that would keep a million
junkies high for over a year
if only they could damn well
synthesise it
– HAH –
it’s all for me;
me and the
jam on the pillowcase.

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