It took
2 years
1 shrink,
2 consultants,
and several "experts"
to draw the conclusion
that my son is "special"
You'd think with all that book learning
They'd tell me something I don't already know.
How many exams to define love?
How many degrees to diagnose wonder?
How many recommendations of care
before they realise
that I am he
and he is me
and that is all the care we need.

Today's the day,
The big one
The prize fight.
4 weeks of intensive training,
religiously practising our art
sleepless nights and drawing boards
anxiety yours, headscratching, mine
have brought us to this fated hour.
This sainted day shall bring a fight
unto vanilla death
but we Jakes men are strong of heart
and you wear your cape of courage well
as we set out with trusted hound
to defend our fortress
and to mock with disdain
the keeps of our rivals.

Take up your arms!
Hold steady...
On my word...
CHARGE!!

Let the sand castle competition begin.

You lie next me
I smell your scent
You drift into sleep
I watch you breathe slow and deep
You mumble words that I strain to hear
I lean closer, feel your body's heat
You drape an arm over me
I start to drift away on the sleepy tide
You mumble once more
I hear the words now
You say her name, you nuzzle my hair
I fade into the darkness of sleep
I fade into obscurity by your side
You've forgotten me.

I watch you sleeping,
Impossibly long eyelashes, black as rooks
flutter against yesterday's sun blushed cheeks,
small digits twitching,
right thumb firmly in mouth
suckling salt soaked skin.

You are the sea my boy,
the earth, the moon and stars.

I sip at my coffee,
eyed by Spiderman
as the Joker grins
and the Riddler envies Dr Seuss.

This moment is perfection,
a little bit of calm
before the tornado hits
with the blue of your eyes.

I read your tears this morning,
words written with salt water
eroded a part of me, deep inside.
You are never alone,
Know this, as I plead with you,
beg of you.
I walk, filled with the light you gave me once
I offer it back, on bended knees
as I mourn the loss of your smile.

We fight delicately, sniping, taking and giving verbal punches.
Our skin doesn't bruise, maybe our egos our minds,
but our bodies no.
Our velvet arguing is seamless, flawless.
Anyone listening would hear witty repartee.
A couple playfully bantering, no more.
Polite meritorious armament of words.
Primed to fire a salvo of cruelty.
Cruelty, covered and handled with crushed velvet gloves.
Textured, cultured, arguing.
Polite parrying, pleasant resentment.
A bottle of wine, remnants of a meal, wounds needing to heal.
Less or more cruel than a punch? This seamless linguistic pain.
Bruises fade, pain subsides, mental cruelty resides.