My heart’s lub-dub
pushes blood half lost.

In the lab they would no doubt see
an elegant double helix
pointing to a certain ancestry

but I see faded yellow turtle necks
and kitchen based bowl cuts
rain hammered car roofs
peering through steamed windows
at the sea

I smell lemon zest
taste cake mix
and hear the muffled,
distance thwarted hum
of Radio Wales

In amongst my GATC
you are woven unloseable,
a shepherd to my instincts

I give thanks with each breath