Small light core on long legs with
Eyelashes ever ready to curl closely round you,
Lifting, but never
Arrogant, always present,
Stirring truth into spice, he disarms
His laundry lines up cleanly
To his pit pat on the door-mat.
His jaw, neat and still, in
Grace, unless moved, grows pepper-
Corns which he combs together into his deep warmth.