#29 - My First Husband

My first husband lives in a cake tin, grinding his tiny teeth.
My first husband carves frescos into warm wax with a hat pin.
My first husband knows when you're lying -
never calls you on it, just shuts his eyes.

My first husband claps and pigeons rise from the beech trees.
My first husband keeps a domino tucked up his shirt sleeve;
smells the file baked inside a Victoria sponge
and bites down anyway. My first husband has teeth like headstones.

When my first husband speaks, his words rattle like ball bearings;
never listens, but holds your smallest habit to his heart.
My first husband strips soap bars with a potato peeler;
saves each flake like an angel feather.