The way you don’t handle a cue like a broom

sweeps up and tucks me in the pocket of your room.

How you chalk the tip before you bend and break;

I stand up to study the positions you take.

As we kiss I am cast upon cushioned walls

before coming to rest within gaping jaws.

Using top and bottom to maintain command

you pull me across with the bridge of your hand.

When you concentrate a faint whistle escapes;

once the table’s cleared the colours enter your face.