by Max Wallis
We’ll be running through sprinklers laughing
two ancient figures, almost crumbling,
clasped hands perfect tight.
Eyes like sacks, teeth: gravestones;
skin falling flapwise sagging.
Vein worms bulging under fading skin.
kiss-mashed together under a rainbow throw,
as though first-learning, still.
Max Wallis is due to start a masters in Creative Writing at Manchester, and writes something every day here.