My large strong hands can easily cradle you,
close to my vision, just an inch away.
I kiss your mouth, your forehead, eyes
and savour the just bathed smell of your neck,
Ample child-skin is not yet taught,
to mould the man, your father’s son,
so for long then I’ll watch you sleep,
hear you come and see you go.
until I lose you,
in the distance of a curving road.
© Graham Sherwood 2009
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