HOOKED UP.

I loved her
Colossally
So in order to avoid her purging me
I searched for a Siamese twin splitter
To stick us together,
And keep us that way.

He was unsure
About the merits of it,
And quoted examples
Of star-crossed lovers
Who’d covered their skin with ink,
But I was insistent.

Maybe a join at the hip,
I said, though this is not as hep
As the pelvis,
And is mentioned too much
By those out of touch,
And envious of love.

Perhaps the forearm,
As forewarned is important
When thoughts of lust
Brush past,
Although this reduces the
Chances to grasp when it does.

Maybe the front,
As being glued to her sternum
Would earn us more face time,
Though less breasts
Would be flashed,
And there’s nothing worth that.

So the backbone was mooted,
With grouting to root us
In deep,
But sleep would be fruitless
And the need to be seen
By her is unsuited to such ties,

And being laced at the face
Would cause similar enigmas,
As the chin, cheek or nose
All presuppose
Too close a bond
That would surely sully the view,

And the back of a hand,
Or finger tip glance,
Would stifle demand
And lead to disagreements
About cutlery
At supper time.

So that left the legs,
Or the instep or heel,
But the prospect of racing
Against displaced parents
On sports days
Quickly overcame that suggestion.

So I didn’t hire him,
And instead spoke to her
About our binding,
Whereby she amazed me
With the truth of our partnership,
In so much as we’re joined at the heart.