C) The Swallow

The Swallow

I have only seen it once, that wink,
that smirk, that beauty-spot, that
contour peak at the centre of your

map; but I recall I kissed that smiling
crease, stopping the sickle before it's
slice, halting the swallow in mid-flight.

A birthday-bird, your navel nests just
where your slender hand tucks in; sailing
through the daybreak of your skin.