Reflections In Chrome.

Settled in water, we shape, and beneath

candlelit sheet of perfume, we steam

hips, ribs, spine and shins with no space between.

I write you as reflections in chrome.

*

Of the Ouse, the Tyne, the Wear, we weave

slow-flowing poems of their cool streams –

We threshold their bridges, seek margins unseen:

I write them as reflections in chrome.

*

The same air as saints and blue bloods we breathe

in cathedrals and cafés, on bridges, in dream.

The same shape, we bathe, you and me; we lean.

I write us as reflections in chrome.

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