Stake your claim as often as the thought occurs,
kiss me as much as your mouth allows. Let me browse
the whorls of your thumbs, swirling around mine.
You win every war with nine syllables, no more,
and even in defeat I am yours.
Somehow everybody else turns foe when
we return to normality, eyelids propped open on sticks,
the left half of your brain still at home with me.
When my eyes close, there is only this.
Knighting the indents of my wrist with a kiss.