Ben Verinder
I am pouring you into other people’s eyes
right now, or they are listening
to a channel I cut out of you.
We are indivisible as waters.
My life I owe you more than once,
as when I leapt without arm bands
into Butlin’s pool and sunk,
watching the sun in stereoscope.
Time bubbled slowly up
until the burst of you in shorts
and Rolex Oysterquartz,
light ribboning your skin,
your effervescent arms.