All this talk through a channel tunnel 
of kid gloves and landmines went underground. 
 
You were communicable my limbs 
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs 
 
with friends lost, whose names like patients’ names. 
Our clumped covet stirs and how 
 
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us. 
Wish in the propriety place, you said, is count misplaced 
 
or no desire at all. But I assert, in my dreams I day-dream, 
in my dreams I do not hope. 
 
Where were you when was I? Counting down 
the decades in behalf of the receipts as casualty of our whilom war. 
 
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