Michaela is 44 today. Swinging into a new year.

She is enough to turn a grown man to poetry.

Nape

They can have your smile

The curl of you that calls out their song

And they can have your hand to hold tenderly

When the trees bend low under the weight of the sky

Your heart is a hospital

So even there they can find for themselves a soft place

Pulsing with the life of you

.

But under your hair

In the fragrant fold of a lobe

In the toss and tickle at the nape of your neck

Is a place all mine