my shoulder drizzled in his spit, my soul
a porcupine--I stuck one little thumb
into his cheek (to get inside the den, to grab
the guilty tooth). He clobbered me. Oh and Ow
and No around the room--I fought with the son
until he charged into a static hug; we spun
as coupling cats become, too caught for giving up.
He lost his tooth; his tongue kept re-erupting
through the hole--against my neck I felt the nose
of something small and living, a wetter pocking
than my sweat against his shirt snaps. I fastened
to him, we burned against the rug until I dropped.
It hurt to hold the boy--though he was light enough.