My neck, where love ran
Just under the skin
Is now an old rickety ladder to the brain.
My breasts, a full delight
For child and man,
To carry rival jewels,
Dangle now untidy,
The wishbone of my legs
Has changed their wishes’ destination,
Shin repeats to shin,
Welcome, death, you may come in.
I should be cheerless
As a crow in winter fields
When the light is going
But up here, at the top of the spine, behind the eyes,
Curtained a little, but not blind,
Sits a young and laughing mind
Wondering which part of me is telling lies.