thrust in my groin.
Let there be crumbs

between sheets; a hard plastic
Tonka in my ribs

& princess tiaras
set upon my dozing nose.

Let me snooze with elbows
splitting my lip;

with limbs that flail
& little bums that butt

like boats against the quay.
I’ll sleep enough when I am

dead. All too soon, too soon,
they’ll sail. I’ll make room

for knees. I’ll gentle wet,
restless heads, fresh from

bath-time shampoo. Far too
soon, the tiny legs that twine

around mine for soothing
will have fled. All too soon

knees’ll be grown-up
and urbane, flailing

under the covers
of someone else’s bed.