Filled in a beautiful wooden box,
with a neatly printed ticket in the corner,
placed in a paper bag
with your brown Aztec collar.
I didn’t have the heart to say
they spelt your name wrong,
a lot of people probably would have
but I was too taken by the hairs
stuck in the inner fabric of the collar.
Only two, but white and perfect,
alive and pert,
the scent of leather,
a whisper of bones and biscuit,
and the surprising weight of you.
