Your fetch is here. His eyes scuttle
his oval teeth are antic pearls.

His gait is yours and the pitch of his voice.
You fall into step passing the lychgate.

Try to touch him. Your fingers start
to skim your drum-taut skin.

We call that the walls of the world.
It’s quite normal and natural

that he should be the other sex
if you once reflect on it (& own

it cannot be so for everyone.)
If you take a certain turn

of mind, the seeing him will return
you home in your own prints.

But your name is what you’re called,
and when you’re called he’ll come

carrying, carrying, carrying you home.