Juniper, Lamplight, Roses Poem by Martin Byrne

I want: Sex like a think pale tangent of
thread from the cusp of my cuff. Aware
of it's seeming benign innocence yet in full
acknowledgment of it's power to undo, untwine, and
to cause me to run to the store for a new shirt.
We meet and gently, slowly, blindly, happily
fearfully, lustfully, pull, in turns, on the string,
elongating the thread, stealing from the warmth

Pull too much and now you're cold, so come together
two furnaces are better than one. Pull too slow
and the dryer will make the end result predictable
and boring, Pull just right and your left with a
safety net for cold winter days and have scratched
the thread itch that has been bothering you since puberty.
Pray that no one runs with scissors and cuts that thread...
I'll be groping for another one for years to come.