Hold Your Breath As Your Head Goes Under

Let’s bathe in all of it:
the temperature crawling up a duck’s back,
the sponge learning our language,
the decisions to swim inside,
the wondering how long we should hold open doors,
the thinking about what was said,
the endless overcooked poached eggs,
the charity shop drowning in his things,
waffles in the microwave, a goalkeeper exploding,
the smell of brown sauce, sucking on cola cubes,
a build-up of dust, letting our skin rest,
the lack of space in the car boot,
the looking out of high windows,
Scott’s lyrics, Graeme’s gloves, Jim’s whiskey t-shirt,
the ears stitched to the lining of our sofa,
the head with curls from a thousand years ago.