is the grip of my lover's tender touch; ground sin through white knuckles. I know where your hands once rested by the burns and bruises in the land where you split me by my ribs, bone dented where your fingers lay. Shibboleth! I recognise you by the space you take up, so for fun, let’s mark where you were in blue heaven, little spots of red, zappo pink & sticky sunnyboy heat before you leave. Paint this body, a canvas learning colour, our fingerprints thick bold acrylic petals scraped clean on those gingham art smocks.