Fidelity (a poem by Mark Halliday)

The things we could do
with certain lovely others
are weapons we keep loaded
or at least near the ammo box
in a drawer behind socks,
there to pull out and polish occasionally
as at a party or dinner
when a smile or drifting fingertip
whispers richly of imaginable beds–
our brandishing when it’s right
being a truly amorous blood-quickener,
a way of saying It’s all for you, my beauty,
and don’t you forget it.


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