Sweat is the glue that sticks me to you.
The sweat in the air that hangs and hides,
and which on me your body glides.
There are different shades of sweat.
The sweat of the morning after,
caught up in the morning laughter,
drowned with the smell of coffee
as we lie with limbs of molten toffee.
I recall the nervous sweat of surprise,
that first time I caught your eyes.
I was mindful not to tell you tall stories
or to tell you lies.
I wasn't very good at hello,
I said sorry instead.
I was so desperate
to get you into bed.
Later I raced you for a bet,
I still recall the stinging sweat.
Yet it is the cold sweat of my mistakes
that really causes my heartaches.
I appreciate the hard sweat of labour,
which in years I will grow to savour,
as it will surely wear me down,
and in which my failing body will drown.
Brushing my brow, the sweat shines
and how, for all the shades of sweat,
the best sweat still remains the glue
that sticks me to you.