I lose myself in your orbitals
whenever they focus on me.

I want to bury my cephalic
in the crevice of your cervical.

I long to keep your brachials
around my dorsum.

You have
amazing scapulars.

Thoracic to thoracic.
Or our palmars intertwined.

Digitals tracing patterns
on each other's abdominals.

Press your oral to my buccal
and we'll see how this goes.

I came from a town like that
where furrows on the forehead
reflected torments of the mind.

There's a place for you Johnny,
be off with you and don't forget
to go to mass now, won't you.

Father Murphy blessed the scapulars,
they'll keep you out of harms way,
be writing and keep the faith.

It was a fond farewell with two bacon
sandwiches and a Paddy Bottle milked.

The five schillings from uncle ****
were sweatin' in me fist.

Be wary he said, they're all thieves
over there you know.

My first day on the hob-nails and a
straight back to be bent.

But I was not alone in exile as I
looked down the hole at my fellows
who were distancing themselves
even further, from Tinamuck.